Something Lost
by Penguita38
Summary: Something is not right in North Salem, IN., and Dean is left to unravel the twisted strings of his brother’s mysterious disappearance. Will he figure it out in time? Or if he does fit all the pieces together, will it be too late? Please enjoy!
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

The Impala's tires quickly spun across the slick moonlit road. Dean and Sam had just finished a hunt in Michigan. They had just saved a family that had apparently attracted a nasty spirit in the form of a black dog – a death omen. The night had worn the boys thin; their nerves rattled with the adrenaline of a fresh hunt. Both men were tired and heading for a town to rest, but in a few hours from now. Dean wanted to cover some roadway.

They had crossed the Indiana border a few hours ago. Sam looked through the rain splattered passengers window; the side road was covered with trees upon trees, no population, and no civilization whatsoever. He looked up ahead as they passed a small blue sign in the center of the road median. It read: Now entering North Salem, IN. Population: 636. Sam, still drained from their previous hunt, looked over at Dean. Dean was barely keeping it together himself. He was obviously exhausted.

"Dean," Sam said quietly, "Can we stop here and sleep? I am tired, man. I don't know about you, but that last hunt kicked my ass." Sam smiled and then sat up straight. "But not as much as it kicked yours."

Dean looked at Sam incredulously, obviously finding Sam's remark absurd, "Kicked my ass more? No way."

Sam chuckled and cocked his head to the side, lifting a brow curiously, "Dude, if I recall, you threw your flashlight at the dog, like it was some chew toy. What the hell where you thinking? Wait, I take that back, you weren't."

"Real funny, boy wonder. I was thinking. I thought if I distracted it long enough, then it would give you ample time to recite the incantation. It worked, didn't it?" Dean said defensively.

"Yes, it worked. You almost got mauled to death by that black dog. I can hear you now. 'Here pooch.' Real smooth, Dean," Sam said sarcastically.

"Whatever, dude. You are just mad that you didn't think of the distraction first. You can never admit to my superiority on the hunt," Dean said seriously, but his lips were curled into a thin smile that said otherwise. He was finding this conversation rather amusing.

Sam, annoyed at his brother's smart-ass comment, sighed and looked out the passenger's side window again. He watched as the wind carried the beads of water across the glass, each one reaching the rim of the window and then falling off freely, just to end up splattered somewhere on the side of the road. He had noticed the droplets had slowed down, instead of racing across the window. They were now descending downward, slowly, which could only have meant the car was slowing down.

Sam continued to stare at the water beads. He noticed the clear, translucent droplets were now glowing orange. Sam looked up and noticed the source of the waters sudden colorful illumination was coming from a neon orange motel vacancy sign. Dean had taken his advice. They were stopping for the night.

Dean parked the Impala in an open parking spot and twisted the keys out of the ignition. Sam got out and stretched his legs. He looked over at Dean, but Dean was gone. He wearily started walking towards his brother. Dean was inside; paying for the room, but Sam wanted to find a place that was open this late. He needed some coffee. He was tired, but like every night, he doubted he would get much sleep. No, all Sam needed was a fresh cup of coffee and a bed to lie down on, so he could relax.

Sam walked through the motel door and a little bell dinged. Dean was talking to the woman at the front counter. Sam noticed his brother's smile – Dean was flirting, again. Sam looked around the room, trying to ignore Dean's pathetic attempt to pick up this girl. She was cute, Sam would give Dean that. She was maybe in her mid-twenties, with blond hair, blue eyes, and a small frame.

Sam lifted up a free magazine and idly flipped through the pages. There was definitely nothing to do in North Salem, IN. The book was bare; no tourist sites, no landmarks, nothing. Sam set the magazine back down and walked over to Dean. Dean placed a hand on Sam's shoulder and squeezed it firmly.

"This is my little brother, Sammy," Dean said to the young lady, "Sammy this is Tabitha, but her friends call her Tabby."

Sam smiled cordially at her and then turned his attention towards his brother, "It's Sam, though. I go by Sam."

Tabby outstretched her hand across the wooden counter and shook Sam's hand. She held onto Sam's hand a lot longer than a normal handshake required. Sam ripped his hand back, and stared at the women bewildered.

Tabitha stared at Sam, eyes wide, as if she was looking right through him. Sam shivered unintentionally, but her gaze was starting to freak him out.

Dean could feel the tension rising. He cleared his throat and then spoke, "Okay. This is awkward. What room did you say we were in?" Dean said, trying to do anything to change the eerie atmosphere that hovered in the air.

"Oh," Tabby said, flustered, as she searched for their room key. She turned around and grabbed a key off the rack. Her thick British accent filled the air again as soon as she turned around, "Room sixty-six. All of our room doors are outside, and connected to this one building. Your room is the last door on the front."

Dean grabbed the key from her, and then turned to Sam. Dean started to walk out the door when Tabby stopped him. "Why are you boys here? If you don't mind me asking?"

Dean turned around, his hand pressed firmly on the glass pane of the front door, and lied, "Just passing through really. We have business in uh… Chicago. We just stopped here for the night. Thanks again."

She smiled sweetly, and then turned her attention back to Sam. He turned away, getting ready to follow Dean. He couldn't shake the uneasiness that was swelling up in is stomach.

Tabby spoke once more before the boys left, her accent filling the air crisply, "If you boys are hungry, my mum owns the diner up the street. It is just a block from here, open all night. Best coffee and sweets in North Salem."

"Thanks, Tabby," Dean replied, and both boys excited the check-in room.

Outside Dean stared at Sam, puzzled. "What was that all about?"

Sam stepped onto the parking lot, his eyes never leaving his brothers, as his feet sloshed in the half frozen slush on the side of the curb. "I don't know. It was weird, though."

Dean opened the front door of the Impala and sat down, "I know. Go figure. She's probably the only hot girl in this town that is into freaky college boys, and not hot studs like me."

Sam shook his head, "No. It wasn't like she was into me or anything. I just can't shake this vibe… like she wanted something from me."

Dean smirked playfully, and then turned the keys in the ignition. The Impala roared to life. "I'll say. She did want something from you, and we both know what that was."

"Jerk. Not like that. Whatever, lets just go to our room," Sam said, appalled by his brother's mordant comment.

Dean parked at the far end of the end of the brick motel. He stepped out into the cool brisk air and then proceeded to the trunk. He gathered his bags, and Sam gathered his as well.

Dean put the key into the door handle and turned it. As soon as the door swung open, a wind blew past Dean and Sam's face. Both boys turned away in disgust. The motel smelled like stale moth balls, mixed with bleach. It was stomach curdling.

Dean stepped in first and threw his bag in the first bed. Sam did the same, but he had the bed closest to the wall, the second one. He unzipped his duffle bag, and pulled out a clean pair of pajama pants. Dean didn't bother; he just kicked his bag off the side of the bed and stretched out on the plaid comforter. Sam looked down at the maroon shag carpet, and then his gaze moved up to the off white cracked walls. This place was definitely old and was in serious need of redecoration, but it would have to do. It was only for a night, and they had stayed in worse.

Dean settled in a little bit more and looked at the clock on the nightstand. It was almost five in the morning; they had driven all night. Dean couldn't keep his eyes open much longer, but he had to make sure Sam was settled in too, otherwise he couldn't sleep properly. He propped himself up, leaning back on his elbows, and looked over at his baby brother.

"What are you doing? I thought you said you were tired," Dean questioned Sam, who was pulling his laptop out of his backpack.

Sam set down his computer and looked up at Dean. "I am tired, but I think I am going to go down to that diner and grab some coffee first."

Dean took off his jacket and threw it in the corner, next to the radiator, "You need to sleep—"

Sam cut him off, "And I will. I just need some coffee first. Late night jitters, you know?"

"Want me to come? Protect you from the big bad in the middle of the night," Dean offered jokingly.

Sam pulled out a hunter-green sweatshirt and pulled it over his head. He then grabbed his khaki colored jacket and put it on over it, "Funny, Dean. I think I can handle a walk to the diner."

"Alright," Dean said as he plopped back down on the pillows, "I offered."

"Thanks. I can manage. I'll be back soon. Want anything?" Sam asked as he set his pajama pants down on the table next to the front window.

"Nah, I am going to get some sleep before your ass wakes me up at the crack of dawn," Dean turned over, his back facing Sam, as he pulled the covers over his body.

Sam didn't respond, he just laughed and left the room. It was cold out. Sam could smell the snow in the air, it had a distinct smell. It was crisp and clean, and although it wasn't snowing now, he could tell it would soon. He walked through the parking lot briskly. Tabby had said the diner was only down the street a block, so there was no need to take the Impala, plus this was good exercise.

Unbeknownst to Sam, a set of blue eyes watched his every step. She watched as the young hunter left the parking lot and headed down the sidewalk. Tabby picked up the motel phone and quickly punched the keys. She waited a few seconds for the ringing in her ear to cease and then spoke quickly into the speaker.

"I found one. His name is Sam, he is headed to my Mum's diner," she listened as the man on the other end questioned her, "Of course I am sure. Hurry, he is alone now, but he has a brother." The man spoke briefly, instructing her, and then disconnected.

She set the phone down and looked back out the glass door. Sam was already out of eyesight. Her lips curled into a twisted, ominous smile. "He should work out nicely."


	2. Something Lost

Thank you everyone for the warm welcome. I am going to update a bonus chapter just for you guys. Thank you. I hope you like chapter two. The fun starts now.

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, but if I had a genie… well, we all know what I would wish for.

Chapter Two

Sam quickly walked down the empty sidewalk. The cold was starting to numb his toes. He had known he shouldn't have worn tennis shoes, but instead something more suiting to the current weather conditions. He trudged on though, ignoring the cold numbing pain that was nipping at his feet.

He looked around the desolate city; it was bare, lacking of life, but he could hear something in the distance. It was a low booming – music. Music was coming from somewhere up the street, maybe a club, or a bar. Sam didn't know, nor did he particularly care. His main focus was a nice hot cup of coffee right now. He reached the corner of the street, exactly a block like Tabby had said, and there sat the diner.

There were two building that rested next to the diner, small brick buildings. The lights were off, which meant the stores were closed. There was about a yard's length in-between the diner and the other buildings, like some sort of small alleyway. Sam crossed the lifeless street and headed towards the only place that was still awake.

He reached the first brick building and passed by the small alleyway. He looked down the dark, ghostly confines of the space and cringed. He could make out a green dumpster resting up against the diners side wall, and steam was coming out of a manhole. The white cloud of steam just added to the alleyway's distinct creep factor. He walked briskly past the unnatural alley and moved hastily toward the diner.

Sam reached the diner's front door and walked in. The place was exactly like the town's tourist magazine – empty. He looked around the diner and noted that he and an elderly old man, who sat placidly at a booth, were the only two living beings in the small restaurant. Sam walked towards the red plastic-glittered stools and sat down. He waited patiently for a waitress to come and take his order.

After a few minutes had passed an older woman emerged from the kitchen doors. She had her blond hair pulled back into a bun and was wearing a pair of outdated reading glasses with a gold chain connected to the sides of the glasses to hold them in place. She looked up at Sam, her blue eyes stopping for a moment and then quickly shifted her gaze down as she pulled a small notepad from her white apron.

She leaned over the counter, her large form leaning up against its black-pebble surface for support. She pulled a pen out of her right breast pocket and then looked back up at Sam.

"What can I get for you, mate?" she said, her British accent booming through the quiet diner.

Sam raised a brow, slightly thrown off by her accent, and tried to process exactly what she had said. Once his mind caught up with his ears, he spoke, "Just a coffee, please."

She scribbled on her notepad, and then looked back up at him, "Black with white, or without?"

Sam shook his head and scrunched his brow in confusion, "Excuse me?"

"Cream or no cream?" she answered, knowing that her words had confused him. She forgot sometimes that some people didn't understand her dialect.

"Oh, um… none is fine. Thank you," he said.

She smiled and then exited back towards the kitchen. She paused before entering the double doors and looked back at Sam, "Here, or are you leaving?"

Sam hadn't realized she was talking to him. She asked him again, and he looked up this time, "Oh, to go."

She pushed through the doors and started a fresh cup of coffee. The full-bodied cook looked over at her. She knew what he was implying with his stare and answered him before he spoke, "We have a customer. Nice lad, not from here, though."

The brown haired man nodded and then went over to the kitchen window to get a look at their young traveler. The man stared at Sam wildly. There was something different about this boy, and he could feel it. He turned around, and looked at Catherine sternly.

"He is one of them isn't he?" the man asked Catherine.

"I think so," she responded hesitantly. She walked over to the coffee pot and poured the black liquid into a Styrofoam cup. She put a lid on the top. She heard Chris, the cook, talk to someone on his phone as she walked back out into the diner.

Catherine placed the cup in front of Sam, "Fresh brew. I just made it."

Sam accepted the coffee and then reached into his back pocket. He pulled out his wallet, but Catherine stopped him.

"No need. It is on the house. You remind me of my son, Benjamin," She looked at down sorrowfully.

"Thanks," Sam said, not knowing how to react exactly to the woman's sudden mood change.

"It's okay," she said, sensing Sam's obvious discomfort. If he only knew that her sadness was partially for him as well, "Have a nice night, dear."

Sam sat up and smiled at her genuinely, "I will. Thanks again," he said as he waved goodbye, and walked out of the diner.

Sam started walking. The cool breeze had already started its game, stinging his cheeks with each passing blow. He paused a few feet from the dark alleyway, and set his coffee on the ground. He turned and looked at the sky. The night was fading fast, bringing with it a new dawn. The colors painted the rim of the horizon. No clouds were present, just one smooth backdrop of pale and dark blue.

Sam looked up at the black streetlamp. It was just feet away from where he was standing, but the orange flickering light seemed to stop midway in the air, lighting only half of the sidewalk. Sam ignored the lack of light, and continued to zip up his jacket.

Being a hunter, Sam knew that something was off. The cold breeze had stopped. The hairs on his neck no longer moved with the cold wind. Someone, or something, was behind him. He turned around quickly, but his face was met with a blur of colors – someone's arm.

Sam nearly fell flat on his back, but his years of training saved him - he had great balance. Sam looked directly at his attacker. A well-built man, maybe in his mid-thirties, his outfit covered by a white apron. Sam knew it was someone from the diner.

Chris moved to attack again. His long legs shifted against the concrete, sending little pebbles flying through the air with the amount of force his was exerting. Sam ducked instinctively and whirled behind Chris. With one quick blow, Sam punched the cook in his kidneys. Sam backed up a few steps, and watched the man stagger.

Chris turned around after the pain ceased, and grinned. Sam cocked his head in confusion, but then he felt it. Someone else was behind him, grabbing his jacket firmly. Sam moved to dodge the assault, but his attacker had too tight of a grip on his jacket. Sam, now thanking the stars that he hadn't had a chance to zip up his jacket, slipped out of the oversized coat; falling flat onto his knees.

The hard gravel dug into his shins as he fell. Sam, wasting no time, stood up quickly. To his left were two other men, and to his right was Chris the cook. He was outnumbered, but he had fought his share of outnumbered battles and still prevailed. He could do this.

Sam, dressed now in just his green sweatshirt, made the first move. He headed for Chris. Chris was blocking Sam's only quick exit out of the alley, so it made sense. He swung for Chris's face, aimed directly for the taller mans nose. He was inches from Chris's face, when he felt the air change again. Someone was attacking from behind. Sam ducked and let one of the other goon's knock Chris directly in the nose. Blood poured out of the cook's nose as he cradled his face with his hands and yelled obscenities.

Sam had the upper hand now. One down, sort of, only two left. Sam didn't think he wanted to take his chances, so instead he decided it was high time he bolted out of there. He made a sprint for the end of the alleyway, but smacked directly into something hard – another man. Tall, and dressed in black slacks, and a long black pea-coat. The man acted as if their collision hadn't fazed him. He just stood there calm and collected, as he stared at Sam.

"Samuel, I presume?" the man spoke in a classy manner.

Sam didn't have time to respond as the two other men grabbed him from behind. His impact with the other man had dulled his senses for a moment. That one moment cost him dearly. He struggled against their hold, moving, twisting, doing anything to try and get them to release him, but they wouldn't. They had a tight lock on his arms, one on each side.

Sam watched as the sophisticated looking gentlemen walked towards him. He had one hand in his coat pocket while the other held a cigarette delicately. The man, clearly of Asian decent, pulled something out of his pocket – a syringe. Sam's eyes widened at the thought of what that was going to be used for. He swallowed hard and looked up at the man.

"What do you want?" Sam demanded, trying to mask the panic that was coursing through his body.

"You," the man said flatly.

Sam struggled once more, but to no avail; his efforts were futile. One slip up had cost him, one damn mistake, and now he was in this situation. Sam noticed that Chris was standing behind the Asian man now, blood still pouring from his broken nose. Chris advanced on Sam, inching closer, and Sam thought this was his advantage.

As soon as Chris was standing directly in front of Sam, he lifted his legs and kicked the man in the gut. The other two men lost their balance and stumbled backwards. Sam was elated, but his hope quickly faded when he noticed he was tumbling backwards with them, the men never releasing their hold on him.

He hit the ground hard, the wind knocked out of his lungs from the impact. Panting, Sam tried to move, but his arms were still pinned. Chris moved swiftly and grabbed Sam's legs, holding them down firmly – Sam was screwed.

"Why are you doing this?" Sam pleaded.

No one spoke, no one answered. The man in the black coat knelt down beside Sam and touched Sam's arm, cigarette still in hand. Sam flinched, trying to move away from the man's cold touch, but he couldn't. He watched as the man lifted up the sleeve to his sweatshirt, revealing the inner side to Sam's forearm. The Asian man flicked his cigarette to the side and uncapped the syringe.

Sam growled in protest, but the man didn't pay attention to him. He ignored Sam's silent pleas and proceeded on with his plans. He searched for a vein in Sam's forearm and, satisfied that he had found a good host for his sedative, he placed the needle on the engorged vein.

Sam clenched his teeth together, knowing what was in store. He waited in fearful anticipation. He looked over and saw the needle pressed against his skin, the sharp tip indenting the vein as it prepared for its merciless attack. Sam stared as the needle slowly pierced his skin with a sharp sting, the contents of the syringe slowly being emptied into his body. He could feel the cold liquid course gradually through veins, burning upon entrance.

As soon as the syringe was empty the men let go. Sam felt the weight of Chris's body lift off of his legs, the men holding his arms releasing their grip. Sam tried to sit up, but he couldn't. Whatever was in that needle was now progressing through his bloodstream. He could feel the coldness starting to move throughout his body.

He managed to flip over onto all fours and tried to crawl away, but his limbs wouldn't obey him. He made to the brick wall and propped himself up against it. He couldn't feel the cold brick. His body was already numbed by the sedative the man had administered. He started panting heavily, trying to fight the medicine, but it wasn't working. He body was slowing down automatically.

Sam tried to move his head, tried to get one last look at his attackers, but his vision was blurred. He felt himself descending into a dark void that engulfed his very being. His eyes bolted open, trying to fight off the drug, and then quickly closed again. Before he was totally swallowed by the black abyss, he heard the Asian man whisper in his ear.

"Goodnight, Sam."

Dean woke up with a start. Immediately he could sense something was awry. He glanced at the nightstand, the clock displaying the time boldly: It was 10:42 A.M. He looked over at the empty bed next to his. Sam wasn't there. Dean swiveled his legs off of the bed and went over to the bathroom – no Sam. He moved the curtains to the side, and peered out the window. The Impala was still sitting in the same parking spot; the one Dean had put her in last night. Something was wrong, he could feel it. He was about to run out the door and start yelling.

He bolted to his jacket and pulled out his cell phone, dialed Sam's number, and waited. It went straight to voicemail. Dean's stomach was now twisting into a thousand tiny knots. He nibbled on his bottom lip and dialed Sam's number again. While he was waiting, he noticed Sam's pajama bottoms still lying on the table in front of him.

He stared at the article of clothing, panic welling up through every pore. He knew it. Those clothes were proof enough. Sam hadn't come back from the diner.

Sam was gone.


	3. Chapter Three

Thank you all so much for the reviews. I love you! Again, I don't own SN, but there is always hope. Lol. Thanks guys!

Chapter Three

Dean got dressed quickly and stormed out the front door. Fear, anger, and anxiety were just a few of the emotions that were coursing through his body at the moment. Dean didn't know what to think. What had happened to Sam? Where was he? He wanted, no, needed the answers – and now. Nothing compared to the urgency of this matter – his matter - his brother's disappearance. Dean's fear vaporized, like the rain on black asphalt in august, and turned to rage. If someone so much as touched his brother, they would pay dearly. He would unravel the twisted strings of his brother's disappearance, one way or another.

Dean hopped into the Impala and took off toward the diner, the last place he knew Sam had gone. Or was supposed to have gone, anyway. The diner was only a block from the motel, so he made it there in record time. He parked his car in a small parking space and turned off the engine. Dean raced toward the diner like a mad man, hoping by some small miracle that Sam would be sitting in one of the booths, reading, eating; hell even sleeping! Dean flew through the diner's front door, trying to remain somewhat collected. His eyes darted around the restaurant, searching for his brother, but to no avail. Sam wasn't there. But maybe someone had seen him?

Dean walked over to the bar. He sat down on one of the red glittered stools and searched for an employee. He noticed a medium built older woman walk out from the kitchen area. She was heading towards Dean. Before she could even ask Dean what he wanted, he started on his tirade.

"I'm looking for someone," Dean said, rushing through his wording. He needed to slow down, push the adrenaline aside, and remain composed. "He is tall, hazel eyes, and has a goofy mop of brown hair. My brother was supposed to have come here early this morning."

Catherine stared at him for a moment, as if she was thinking carefully about what to tell him. She adjusted her glasses, and shifted her gaze to the right. "I'm sorry. We haven't had anyone come in with that description. Do you want to order?" she asked, quickly averting her gaze back, staring directly at Dean.

He looked at her tentatively, and then replied, "No." That's all he said, and he left as quickly as he had come in.

Outside, Dean shivered as the crisp, clean air nipped at his flesh. Instead of going back to his car, he decided he would retrace Sam's steps. He rounded the side of the diner and entered a small alleyway. He kicked the side of the brick wall. That waitress was lying. Years of hunting had trained him well. When a person shifts their eyes to the right, they are accessing their creative side – their lying side. Dean knew it. She was not telling him the whole truth.

Dean looked around the alleyway for some sort of indication that his brother had been here. There was nothing, except for a few cigarette butts strewn across the concrete. He turned to leave, but something caught his eye. On the ground towards the entrance of the alley, were red spots – blood. Someone had bled here, and recently too. Dean's stomach flipped. God, he hoped it wasn't Sam's blood. He turned around once more. This alley held some kind of silent clue to his brother's disappearance.

He knelt down and searched the concrete, sifting through the loose pebbles and debris that were lying innocuously on the ground. He noticed something next to his left hand, just barely out of eye sight. The tip of the small item was apparent from underneath the dumpster. Dean knelt down to pick it up. He looked at the green plastic item and immediately knew what had happened - Sam had been kidnapped. The blood, and now this: it was the top to a syringe. The green translucent cap was mocking him with all its unanimated splendor. It was saying, "Look at me. I am part of the thing that stole your baby brother."

Dean's lip quivered with rage and pure hatred as he flung the small item clear across the alleyway. Dean wasn't sure if the blood was Sam's, but he was sure that the syringe cap was meant for his brother. Dean leaned up against the dumpster, trying to calculate his next move. Dean punched the side of the dumpster, hard. The black plastic top to the dumpster popped up briefly, and then fell back down.

Dean noticed something when the top had flown up, something he recognized. He lifted the black top up and there, sitting on top of all the trash and filth, was Sam's jacket. Dean's heart was pounding rapidly in his chest; the sound of his blood was deafening in his ears. Now it was evident. Someone, or something, had Sam.

Dean picked up his brothers dirtied coat and headed back for his car. He needed to figure this out, and he knew he wouldn't rest until Sam's lengthy body was sleeping in the motel bed next to his. He got in the Impala and threw Sam's jacket in the back seat. He started the engine and headed for the police station. He knew he could figure out this mystery, but it didn't hurt to have the men in blue looking too.

Dean arrived at the police station quickly; in a small town like this everything is moments away from everything else. He parked and headed inside.

Inside the station things were quiet. No one was running amuck like in the movies. No phones were ringing, no fax machines were buzzing annoyingly, and, worst of all, no one was talking. No, this place was dead. Dean walked over to one of the officers that were sitting at his desk.He coughed to gain the attention from the obviously distracted officer.

The heavy set man looked up at Dean, his blue eyes piercing their way through the uneasy tension, they were so pristine, captivating. "Can I help you?"

Dean sat down in the chair in front of the man's desk, and leaned back He noticed a black ballpoint pen lying on the officer's desk, and picked it up. He started clicking the top of the pen, extracting the pen tip, and then retracting it. Dean then started to shake his leg up and down rapidly. He was fidgeting. He was worried "I need to file a missing persons report."

The officer started to type on his outdated keyboard, and then looked up at Dean. "What is the person's name? Date of birth? And how long has he been missing?"

"Samuel Winchester. He was born on um… May 2nd of 1983—"

Dean didn't have time to finish filling in the rest of the information; before the officer lifted up his hand rudely and told him to hush. Dean, a little taken aback by the officer's blunt uncouthness, sat there quietly.

The blue eyed man looked back up at Dean, "Birthplace?"

"Lawrence, Kansas," Dean answered.

The man typed away on his keyboard and then leaned back in his chair, stretching, "Want some coffee while it pulls up the information?"

Dean nodded affirmatively. "Sure. I could use some right now. Jitters and such."

The officer sat up and rounded the corner, taking off down the hallway. A couple minutes later the man emerged with two coffees in hand. He sat back down and placed one of the cups in front of Dean.

Dean picked up the cup and blew a cooling breath over the hot liquid. "Did you find anything?"

The officer sipped his coffee and set it down. He rubbed the scruff on his face and looked at his computer screen, bewildered. "Says here that no record was found. Samuel Winchester of Lawrence doesn't exist. Sorry."

Dean lifted an inquiring brow and smiled a comical half smile, cocking his head to the side. "Excuse me? Did you just say my brother doesn't exist?"

The officer turned the computer screen to the side so Dean could take a look for himself. Dean looked at the screen, puzzled. There, in black in white, it said 'no file found'. Dean read over what the officer had typed in. Maybe he missed something, or forgot something vital? But no, it was all right. Sam's birthday, his city of birth, all of it.

Dean didn't know what to say. This wasn't right, obviously. Why did the computer tell him that Sam had not been born? This made no sense. "You are wrong," Dean spoke up finally. "I know my brother exists. Search again."

"I'm sorry, but there is nothing I can do. I can't file a report on someone who isn't real. There is nothing we can do." And just like that, the officer gave up hope. He was done with the matter.

Dean wasn't done, though. He was pissed. This man was sitting there telling him there was nothing they could do. His voice roared through the police station, his anger clearly evident as he screamed, "What do you mean you can't not look for him! He is my brother, dude! You sick, sorry, excuse for cops are gonna tell me that he isn't real? You are wrong! I know my brother, and I damn well know he is real. This is ridiculous! I don't need this shit!" Dean flew up from his seat and exited.

He had hit a dead end with the police. He snickered. "Like they would help anyways," he mumbled as he unlocked the driver's side door to the Impala.

He sat down in the driver's seat and then reached into his wash-faded jeans pocket. He pulled out his cell and dialed someone. He waited until he heard the familiar voice pick up on the other end.

"Kathleen. Hey, it's Dean. I need a favor," Dean asked the deputy. He hadn't seen her since the last time Sam had been kidnapped, but he knew she was a cop that could actually help.

Dean finished his phone call and drove back to the motel. Once he got there he rushed inside and turned on Sam's computer. Dean held onto the silver computer and sighed. Sam's computer, something his brother used. The thought was heartbreaking, but he had to remain composed. For Sam's sake.

Dean checked his email and downloaded the attachment. He opened it and scanned over the documents contents. He found what he was looking for and smiled.

"Gottcha now," he grinned. He grabbed a pad of paper and wrote down what he was searching for.

Dean had asked Kathleen to pull the phone records from the motel. Sam had mentioned something about Tabby giving him a weird vibe that night. So, Dean was going to go on his brother's instinct. Dean had found out from the phone records that Tabby had made only one phone call that night, and it was right about the time Sam had left the motel. That bitch was in on it. Dean knew it.

There was something seriously wrong with this town. It was like they were all working against him. First Tabby, and then Catherine at the diner, and finally the police. He didn't need them; he would find Sam on his own. Dean looked at the phone number and pulled up the white pages on the internet. He entered in the number and waited in anticipation for the business, or person, to be exposed.

The page pulled up, and Dean looked at the name. It was a business. Some place called Naitokurabu ba. He jotted down the address and pocketed the paper before he left the motel and got back in his car.

Dean parked his car across the street from the nightclub. It was obvious now from sitting outside of the building that this was some posh nightclub. He got out and started towards the club. He walked up to the front door of the blue painted building, and opened the front door.

The inside of the building was huge and elaborate. White square pillars were placed randomly throughout the club, there were booths in the back corners that were dressed with fine velvet curtains, red ones. The seats matched the plush tapestries. The floors were a dark mahogany colored wood. Behind the VIP looking booths, glass fountains replaced the walls. Blue lights shimmering through the water that was cascading down the clear glass. To Dean's right was a stage, scattered with equipment of every kind – DJ equipment.

Dean decided that since no one was around, well, it wouldn't hurt to take a look around the place. He started to walk towards the back of the club when he heard a clattering sound coming from his right, where the bar was. He looked over and saw a man rise from the underside of the bar table.

The Asian man walked out from behind the bar. He was dressed in business attire; finely pressed black pants, a black business jacket over a white collared button-down shirt. His shimmering black hair was adorned with bright, fire-red streaks and was pulled back into a short ponytail. His hair, if down, looked like it would measure to the thin mans chin. He was tall. Not extremely tall, shorter than Sam, but a little taller than Dean. The man had one earring that dangled from his left here; it was a small silver pendant with a tiny red stone in the center.

The man smiled genuinely and outstretched his hand, "Hi. I'm Katsuya."

Dean shook Katsuya's hand. "Dean."

"Well, Dean, what brings you to Naitokurabu ba?" Katsuya asked.

"I am looking for someone. Who runs this place?" Dean asked, but it sounded more like a demand.

"Ah. Ritsuka runs the place. He will be in later tonight. I can give him a message," Katsuya said while turning around. He headed back over to the bar and started to place several bottles out on the counter.

"No, thanks," Dean said, watching the Asian man's every move. "Hey, Katsuya, how old is this place? I mean, it looks pretty new. No basement or anything built underneath it?"

"Ah, you can call me Katz. To answer your question, no. This place does not have a basement. It is fairly new, and having a basement in a nightclub, well… that is a liability. You know legalities and such," Katz said, reaching underneath the bar table and pulling out a small glass. He poured a clear liquid into the glass, paused, and then lifted the cup up towards Dean. "Sake?"

"I'm good. What time will Ria… whatever his name is, be in?" Dean asked.

"Sundown," Katz answered plainly.

Dean nodded his head abruptly and started to leave the club. Katz stopped him as he reached for the doorknob; the Asian mans voice filled the air, "I'll let him know you are looking for him, Dean."

Dean didn't answer, he just opened the door and left. Another dead end for the moment. He was frustrated. He decided to start over from where things had gone awry – the diner. It was his only choice. This owner, whatever his name was, wasn't going to be in until tonight. Dean knew Catherine was lying to him. He might as well go and jog her memory.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Sam tried to open his eyes, but they felt like they were sewn shut. Like some unmerciful being had glued his eyelids shut and left him there to suffer. After a few more minutes of trying, he was able to open his left eye, and then his right eye followed suit. He blinked both of his eyes rapidly, trying to brush off the sleep induced haze his mind was clearly riddled with. He tried to sit up, but he couldn't. Then it hit him. The kidnapping, the men, the Asian guy with a cigarette – the needle. It had all happened so fast. He looked around, but he couldn't make out anything clearly yet. He noticed that his mouth had an extra appendage – they had gagged him.

The foul smelling cloth was making the bile rise in the back of his throat. It smelled like dirty soil and sediment. He could taste the rough grains of sands that skidded across his tongue as they fell off of the rag. His hands were obviously bound, because he couldn't move them. He was in some sort of cage. He also noted that it was extremely dark in the room. No windows, no lights.

Where the hell was he? And where the hell was Dean? What did those men want with him? God, he hoped some of his questions would be answered soon.

His head throbbed with the onslaught of a forming headache, that, and his mind was still jumbled. The sedative had not completely worn off yet. His arms were numb with pain, the pain of being pulled behind his back for such a long period of time. He just wished he knew what the hell was going on.

A door opened, and a thin man entered the room. He walked over to the cage, and looked down at Sam. He smiled sadistically and then spoke, "I see you are awake. Let's get started. Shall we?"


	4. Chapter 4

I do not own SN, but again, if only it were possible. Thank you everyone for wonderful reviews! I appreciate them all!

Chapter Four

The Asian man stood casually in front of Sam's cell, his prison, his cage, and lit a cigarette. He puffed on the nicotine filled tobacco stick and walked over towards Sam. The man, dressed full in business attire, pulled a set of keys out of his pants pocket. Sam didn't know what was in store for him and he was sure he didn't want to find out, either.

Sam waited for the man to enter the cage. The ropes that were binding his hands were starting to rub his skin raw; he could feel the little splinters of the rope's twine digging into his skin as he moved. The dirty gag used to hush his voice was starting to make his jaw feel constricted, too tight. He needed to breathe.

The Asian man grabbed the back of Sam's bindings and started to drag the young hunter out of the cage and across the cold concrete floor. The man dropped Sam in front of a large stone slab – an altar – and walked over towards the wall behind the sacrificial stone. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a box, a small red box containing small matches. He struck one of the matches against the side of the box and stared at the flame that danced wildly at the end of the wooden stick. He held the match above a candle and let the wick tangle with the fire. The candle slowly started to dimly illuminate the room.

The skinny man, who Sam now recognized as the same man from the alleyway, grabbed the bindings on Sam's feet and arms and hoisted him up onto the stone. The cold concrete immediately sent chills down the young hunter's back. Sam didn't like where this was going, not at all; him lying on his back on a sacrificial slab of stone while bound at the his hands and feet - not good.

The man turned around and exited up the stairs. Sam had a moment to try and get away, and to take a more detailed glance at his surroundings. He knew there was an altar, he could tell anyone that with personal experience, but he wanted to see what else the room held. He saw the metal cage he had previously been held in clearly now. He could see the wall behind him was glowing with an eerie yellow tint, meaning the wall was either white or yellow. The wall was also made out of concrete; he could see the uneven groves and patchwork on the stone wall.

The room was pretty bare and small, too. It looked like there was only one way out of this place, and that was the staircase located on the opposite side of the room. He could make out curtains, red velvet ones, hanging lifeless next to the candle. The other side of the room was dark, because the candle only lit the side he was currently sitting on, but he could see small markings drawn on the wall. He wondered what they were.

Sam scooted his butt across the altar, trying to force his body off of the giant concrete monstrosity. He was almost off of it when the door flew open, and not just the Asian man came back, but two other goons as well.

"Trying to escape? How cute," the Asian man said with such distain for the young hunter lying awkwardly on the stone altar. "Where could you have gone to, anyway?"

Sam processed that question for a moment; the man was right. He was tied down, like a pig is hog-tied, right before being sent to the slaughter. That is how Sam felt. He didn't know what these men wanted from him, or why they had kidnapped him; all he knew was that this situation sucked, royally.

The two lackeys, also Asian men, were standing behind the "leader" of them, the one that was dressed like he was going to a board meeting in an hour. Sam watched with fearful eyes as the two men from behind advanced towards him. One of the men grabbed his hands, and the other grabbed his feet and they flipped Sam onto his side. He felt something cold wrap around one of his ankles – a metal shackle. This only fueled the fire that was burning in his soul and he tried to break free once more.

Sam wriggled and struggled hard against the bonds, but it was futile. His hands hand been bound together by someone who had taken their 'how to tie inescapable knots' class. He felt another shackle clamp down tightly around his other ankle, and then the rope tug at his flesh as one of the lackeys cut it off. Sam tried to move his feet, thinking they were free, but they weren't. They were chained to the stone slab.

Sam had been so busy before, looking at around the room, that he hadn't noticed one important factor - the altar he was currently lying on. It was a long slab of concrete on the top of a rectangular stone base. The top had four half circle rings imbedded into the concrete, one on each corner. Two of those rings were already being used. Those rings were what kept the shackles chained to Sam's feet, and him unable to move off of the death bed. The sacrificial stone itself was about ten feet in length, and four feet wide.

Sam felt the men using the same cruel method of binding his feet to the altar, now being performed on his hands. He tried yet again to break their hold, but he couldn't move. He felt one hand cuffed, and then chained, before the man cut had cut the ropes off of his hands. With one hand free, Sam swung at the man who was trying to capture his flailing arm. The man backhanded Sam hard across the face before he grabbed the stray hand and chained it to the altar.

There Sam laid now, his body outstretched, each appendage chained to one side of the slab. Sam, still gagged, tried to muffle something to their "leader".

The sophisticated Asian man sauntered towards Sam and traced the cloth of Sam's gag lightly. He smiled maliciously as he gazed upon their new chosen victim. "Tabby was right. He is a fine catch indeed. Strong, well-built, and he has great potential," the man said, moving his finger from the dirty rag and up towards Sam's rose colored cheeks. The man brushed his finger over Sam's face delicately. With each touch he seemed to consume a part of the young man's being.

"Let's begin," the man instructed, and then turned around, his form disappearing within the red velvet curtains, and then reappearing with something in his hand.

Sam lied there helplessly, his eyes wide with the realization of what the man held in his hand. Sam swallowed forcibly, trying to push his saliva down past the nuisance of a rag that was shoved into his mouth. The gag was one piece, tied completely around Sam's head, but tied tightly, forcing part of the gag in-between his teeth ruthlessly.

The man approached Sam, with the item in hand and hovered over the hunter's vulnerable frame. The man held the silver dagger above Sam's face, watching the candle light as it reflected off of the shimmering metal. The two lackeys stood behind the sacrificial stone, watching their "leader's" every movement.

The "leader" lifted the blade smoothly into the air and pressed the cold metal firmly on to Sam's neck. He flipped the blade over, the razor sharp edge touching Sam's exposed flesh, and slid it downwards, cutting off Sam's sweatshirt slowly. The man reached the rim of Sam's sweatshirt and proceeded to cut off Sam's undershirt too.

Sam felt a cold chill brush over his now exposed torso. He couldn't speak; all he could do was mumble at the man, try to plead with him to give him some sort of an answer. The man ignored Sam's protest and ran the knife over Sam's exposed flesh absentmindedly. He stopped right above Sam's navel and lifted the knife upwards, the tip resting threateningly upon his stomach.

"Do you know what you are?" the man asked Sam, his gaze never leaving the dagger. He stared at the blade intently and started twirling it around slowly. A tiny trickle of blood sprouted from underneath the tip of the knife.

"Oh, I forgot. You can't answer me," the man said, nodding at one of the lackeys.

The dimwitted follower of this so called "leader" placed his hands behind Sam's neck and untied the gag. Sam felt like a weight had just been pulled out of his mouth. He moved his jaw around, trying to regain some sense of feeling back in his overstressed muscles. His swallowed and immediately noticed that his throat was raw and dry from the lack of saliva being permitted to dampen his abused airway.

Sam asked the man, his voice barely a whisper, "Why are you doing this? What do you want from me?"

"That is the question of the day, but everyone put in your situation asks that question. Why me? Well, you have a gift," the man paused and looked up at Sam. "You just don't know it yet."

Sam was confused. Were they talking about his spoon bending powers? His visions? What? What gift did he have that he didn't know about? Sam looked at the man, puzzled.

"What do you mean… a gift?" Sam asked, his voice more audible now that he had a constant flow of saliva wetting the back of his throat.

"It's a secret," the man said. He lifted his index finger and held it in front of his mouth. "You can't know yet."

"Why?" Sam asked.

"You'll find out," the man answered bluntly.

"What is with the elusive shit? Just tell me!" Sam yelled, anger flaring from every cell of his infuriated body.

The man smiled mockingly, "What's with the twenty questions? Just shut up and accept your fate. It makes life so much easier, and less painful." The man looked over at one of his followers and nodded his head with assent.

One of them vanished behind the red curtain and returned with a small, black, leather-bound book in hand. He handed the book over to the "leader" and then took his place, standing back behind Sam again.

The business-like man opened the book up and flipped through the yellowed pages. Sam watched his every move, his heart beating so rapidly in his chest that he was surprised it didn't just pop out. The man stopped and grinned wickedly at Sam. He set the book down on the altar, and placed the knife on Sam's stomach once more.

Sam felt a sharp sting as the knife made its first incision. The blade moved along his stomach, and with each movement, Sam hissed. He grit his teeth together, trying to mask the pain and anguish that was exploding through his body right now. He felt the man twirl the knife around, creating some kind of circle on his stomach, right about his navel. Sam could fee the blood starting to trickle down his stomach and drip down his sides.

Tears started to sting the corners of his eyes as he fought back the excruciating pain that coursed through his stomach. He started panting, hard and unintentionally, and balled his hands into a fist, as if the pressure from squeezing his hands together might relieve the pain. The man stared down at Sam's newly crimson painted stomach and sneered. He cut the knife harshly down the center of the gash-formed circle, and then again towards the opposite side. Each cut penetrated the skin deeper. The man only had two more marks to make. "And," he thought cruelly, "He had better make them count."

Meanwhile, Sam was busy trying to correct his labored breathing, but it wasn't working. The young hunter felt like he was on the verge of hyperventilating. This made him feel weak. Dean could handle this, and so could he. He dared to glance downwards towards his morbidly painted skin, but he couldn't see, so instead he stared at the ceiling, praying that this painful venture would soon cease.

The man made another cut, but this time, he dragged the bloodied knife slowly down the young hunter's skin. The crimson-splashed dagger slid down the hunter's stomach, and across his blood-slick skin. One more gash and the symbol will be complete. The man moved the knife to the outer rim of the circle on Sam's stomach, the circle in which his first fateful incision was formed.

Sam's bottom lip trembled from the amount of pain his body was racked with at the moment. He closed his eyes tightly and waited for another assault to come. He could feel the damp basement breeze blow past his blood soaked stomach, the warm wet blood turning to ice as soon as the breeze contaminated it with its chill. Not once did he cry out. The pain, albeit unbearable, was not something he was willing to give into easily.

The man forcefully slid the knife into Sam's skin. He watched as the tip of the blade disappeared into Sam's flesh. The man still pushed deeper, until the blade was about one-fourth of the way in. He dragged the now partially embedded knife across the young hunter's stomach, the blade slipping downwards as he had passed over Sam's navel. Dark crimson blood poured from the newly formed gash; a lot more blood was being produced by its incision than those of its shallow brothers'.

Sam let out a strangled cry and pulled on the shackles that were binding his wrists to the altar. He pulled as hard as he could on the metal restraints, but it did no good. The pain still rampaged through his body. The fiery torture ripped through his stomach, further, and further, until it finally stopped.

Sam let his body relax on the cold stone. It had stopped, for now. The pain was still there, throbbing, and with every heartbeat bringing the young hunter closer to the edge. He mustered up enough courage to look down at his injured flesh, but he wasn't ready for what he saw. As Sam lifted up his head, he could feel the sweat beads dripping down his face. His stomach was no longer tan, but a bright cardinal red, though in some parts the blood was a deep crimson - those were the deeper gashes.

He couldn't make out the symbol, the one that the man had brutally carved into his stomach. Either Sam was delirious from the blood loss, or he had completely lost it, but he could hear someone mumbling something in Latin. Sam wearily twisted his head over to see where it was coming from.

The man, the business dressed one, was chanting something, but Sam couldn't make it out. He heard words here and there, so Sam knew he was speaking in Latin. A few minutes later the chanting slowed down. Sam stared blankly at the ceiling. His mind was already trying to cope with the pain, but that meant blocking everything out.

The leader stopped chanting, and looked over at Sam. He smiled sadistically, and then recited the final words of the incantation, "Adstringo."

As soon as the final word has passed through the Asian mans thin lips, Sam jolted. Pain exploded throughout every opening in his body. He pulled at the restraints once again, hoping by some miracle they would break and he could curl up into a protective ball, but they didn't budge. Sam let out a sobbed choke, and tried earnestly to fight the pain.

Sam looked up at the man, pain etched in every pore of his face as he spoke, "Why?"

The man reached down and placed his hand on the bloodied symbol. He lifted one hand up and held onto his ear. He closed his eyes, and recited one more word, "Amoveo."

Sam let his body fall back onto the altar. He was panting hard, barely able to breathe at all. His sweat covered brow was a definite sign of the young hunter's struggle.

Sam looked up at the man and tried to steady his breath, "What… did you… do?"

The man smiled, a mechanical smile, and laughed wickedly, "It is great, isn't it? Do you know Latin Sam?"

Sam couldn't move. His breathing was a bit more labored, but it still wasn't controlled either. Sam tried to think of the words that the man had said, but he was drawing a blank; the pain had clouded his senses. He thought hard, and then he remembered at least two of them.

Sam spoke wearily, but with certainty, "Adstringo… bind. Amoveo," Sam coughed slightly, "remove."

"Good job, Sam," the man said, mockingly clapping his hands together. "You must have excelled in school."

Sam gasped as the pain shot through his limbs. It was coming in waves, intervals, and it wouldn't cease. The last gash the man had inflicted was the obvious cause of the pain's never-ending cycle. Sam's vision started to blur, but he didn't want to succumb to the darkness, not yet. He needed answers.

"What do you gain?" Sam said, struggled.

"It doesn't matter—"

"It does. What did… he offer – the demon that is?" Sam interjected.

"So, you know. Who are you?" the man said, raising a curious brow.

With what little strength Sam had left, he smiled, a mocking smile, and repeated what the man had said to him earlier that night, "You'll find out."

"Fair enough," the man said, and headed for the stairs. "Goodnight, Sam."

Those words had haunted his sleep the previous night. Now, Sam was left alone in the freezing basement as the man's words echoed throughout his brain yet again. Sam closed his eyes and let the darkness swallow him. It was the easy way out, to escape the pain, he knew, but he couldn't bare it any longer. His world faded into darkness, his mind clinging to the hope that his dreams would bring him some sort of peace – an escape.


	5. Chapter 5

Thank you guys so much for your reviews. I love each and everyone of them so much. You fuel the engine in my fingers, and feed the evil plot bunnies. So, thank you!

Disclaimer: No I don't own SN, but still hoping...

Chapter Five

Dean sped down the small quiet rode. He didn't know exactly what his next move was going to be, but he knew finding Sam needed to be done, now. He couldn't stand the fact that he didn't know if Sam was hurt, or if he was… he didn't want to think about the other possibility. Dean knew one person who probably did know; that bitch of a motel cashier, Tabby. If she knew, then his rule of not hitting a woman might waver a bit.

Dean reached the motel and parked his car hastily before he jumped out of the driver's seat hurriedly. All the emotions that had built up over the past few hours were wearing his nerves thin. He was anxious right now. The thought of Tabby possibly having the answers to his brother's disappearance overwhelmed his mind. He was elated, but at the same time he didn't want to get his hopes up. What if she didn't know, or if she wasn't there? Those potential hindrances kind of put a damper on the whole 'big brother to the rescue' initiative.

Dean flew through the front door of the motel's check in station. His eyes darted around the room madly for the blonde haired woman. Much to his disappointment, she wasn't there. Instead a fat balding man was sitting behind the counter.

"Can I help you?" the oversized man said dully.

Dean smiled in disgust, "I am looking for Tabby. I left something here and she said—."

The fat man rudely cut Dean off. "She's not here. It's her day off. Come back tomorrow," he said, clearly paying no mind to Dean's presence as he flipped through a nudie magazine.

Dean raised a questioning brow and stared at the man with revulsion. The man's weight problem, his lack of hair, and his taste in magazines, didn't quite scream "Hey come over here and let me take your daughter out on a hot date." Dean shook his head. No, this man appearance really shouted, "Hey look at me, I ended up on America's Most Wanted for molestation." This guy was sickening.

Dean needed answers, though. So, he would just have to force the contents of his stomach back down and continue his interrogation. "So, do you know where she lives? Cause I really need—."

The man interjected rudely again, "No. And it is not like I would give it to you," he paused and looked up at Dean. The man snorted and then shook his head. "You could be some kind of stalker, for all I know."

Dean stepped backed in disbelief. This man, this guy, thought he could be a stalker? Dean smiled comically. This man, who would more than likely to try a cheap pick up line and then slip a roofy in your drink, questioned his motives? No way.

Dean turned and exited the motel. He paused at the driver's side door, "If Sam were here, man, those puppy dog eyes would have gotten the answers out of that guy, and maybe one of those magazines," Dean said aloud, but paused. He hadn't meant to say that out loud, and the realization that his brother wasn't there hit him hard. He felt the anger rise again at the thought of what someone could be doing to his brother. He jumped in the Impala and decided to check out his next lead – Catherine. He had known, back when he'd first gone to see her, that she wasn't telling the truth, and he should've questioned her right there, but he hadn't. Well, now he had hit a dead end again, and she wasn't squirming away from his grasp this time.

Dean reached the diner in less than a minute. He walked through the glass doors and spotted his target. Catherine was attending to a young man sitting at the booth directly next to where he was standing. The elderly woman hadn't registered Dean's presence yet. Dean waited semi-patiently for the woman to finish her conversation with the customers.

She spotted Dean as soon as she turned away from the customer. She stared at him for a moment, and then walked casually over to him. Dean watched her rigid movements; she was nervous.

She gently put her hand on the eldest hunters shoulder, and then whispered in his ear, "Meet me in the alley in two minutes. Be discreet."

Dean stood in the alley apprehensively. The cold air started blowing through his sandy blond, spiked hair. The chill nipped at the top of his earlobes, painfully too. The red glow tracing the top of ears was proof of the cold's taunting attacks. Dean kicked the tiny gravel pebbles across the ground. While he was standing there waiting for Catherine to come out, he couldn't help but think about Sammy. Dean was standing in the back of an alley, in his blue pea-coat, waiting for some lady, but what was Sammy doing? Was he okay?

That painful twist, those scurrying butterflies that one gets in their stomach when nervous, well, his butterflies weren't just flying around. No, his were flying around his stomach blind, hitting the sides of him, each fluttering wing brushing against him with a tickle. Dean couldn't shake this feeling. The damn winged stomach creatures just wouldn't die!

Dean turned around as soon as he heard the rusty squeaking of a metal door. He saw Catherine walk out of the diner's side entrance. She was still wearing her aqua-blue dress uniform and white apron. The woman reached into her front apron pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. Dean paid special attention to the brand she was smoking. The filter on her brand of cigarettes was wrapped in white-speckled tan paper, whereas the ones that were scattered all over the alley were just plain white ones, with three green stripes wrapped around the filters top. She wasn't the mysterious kidnapper after all, but that didn't mean she didn't have answers.

The older woman puffed on her cigarette and blew out a long cloud of smoke. Her teeth were chattering together as she spoke, "Damn, it's cold out here." She pulled her arms close to her chest and hugged them to her.

"Do you know who has Sam?" Dean said, jumping right in with his interrogation.

Catherine looked around edgily and then simply nodded her head. Before Dean could ask the women who, her smoke-scratched, English accented voice filled the air, "I can't say. I am sorry. They will know. I can talk later, but not now."

Dean Winchester did the one thing he rarely did. He begged, "Please. I need to know. Sam could be—"

"Trust me angel, your brother is fine. He might be hurting, but he isn't dead—"

"Dead!" Dean screamed disdainfully, "How can you just stand there—'

Dean didn't have time to finish, before he felt a warm hand pressed against his mouth, hushing him. Catherine's hand was placed firmly over Dean's lips. He could smell the peppermint oil the woman was wearing. The scent was intoxicating at first, but now it was starting to nauseate him.

Catherine stared at Dean with warning eyes. "Shh. Please. They will hear us. If you want to find him alive, trust me. Be quiet," she said quietly, her cigarette dangling loosely from her mouth as she spoke.

She held her hand in place as she continued, "He will know, and in reality he probably already does, but you have to understand I want to tell you. I just can't right now, here in the open. If I do, then finding Sam won't matter, they'll kill him before you find him," Catherine reached into her apron with her free hand and pulled out a small crinkled piece of paper. She crumbled the paper up into a tiny ball and then placed it into Dean's palm, closing his hand around the little ball.

She removed her hand, and then placed her cigarette in-between her fingers, "That will help. If you don't find the answers you are searching for, flip it over."

Catherine dropped her cigarette and stomped out the burning red ash with her black penny-loafers. She walked towards the door, and then paused, looking back at Dean. "Something that might help is to watch out for the symbol."

"Symbol?" Dean asked, confused.

"You'll know"

"Catherine. Do you ever smoke anything other then the ones you do? Maybe switch it up a bit?" Dean asked.

"No. Those butts there are menthol. Can't stand them. I am a full tarred red's kind of gal," she said as she waved goodbye, and then disappeared into the diner.

Dean walked out of the alley, and headed towards the Impala. He paused when he reached his car, and stared at the piece of paper. He smoothed it out and looked at the writing. On the front side of the paper the words: Naitokurabu ba – the nightclub – was written on it. He flipped the paper over. The other side had an address written on it, and a phone number.

Dean sighed heavily and looked up at the blue sky and white clouds that were now a shade darker. The sun had disappeared; well, almost. The top of its bright head was still peaking out above the horizon, watching the city slow down and tuck themselves back into their houses. As each day ends, the sun leaves the world a beautiful present: a mix of colors splashed throughout the sky. Purples and reds, even oranges, were a symbol of the burning star's removal from the sky. Every morning when it rose, it displayed the same wonderful colors. The reds and the purples returned every night and morning. What a beautiful present to give. Yes, the sun was a kind star.

Now that night had almost fallen, Dean decided that it was time to pay the nightclub another visit. Parking his car was more of a daunting task than he had thought it would be, though. The quiet, nobody walks around at night town, was bursting with life right now. Dean ended up parking the Impala in the grass, with the other thirty cars that had decided that it was easier to park there than wait for an empty parking space.

The night's air was cool, colder then it had been all week. He could smell the snow forming in the clouds. It hadn't snowed since they had been here, but the crisp dryness in the air was telling him it was about to. He walked through the parking lot, trying to make it into the club. There were about fifty people walking towards the club next to him, but the funny thing Dean had noticed was that his white skin was the only white skin. Dean's tan but still white complexion was mixed in with about fifty olive toned Asians. He was definitely the minority.

There was a line at the front of the building, but not too long. Dean hopped in behind the rest of the people and waited to get in. Those damned butterflies had returned. He was so anxious. Catherine said he might find the answers here, and God, he hoped so.

While waiting in line he could hear the loud thumping from inside the club. The music was loud, but one thing that he had noticed right away was that it wasn't in English. The music was all in Japanese, or Korean, Dean didn't know. It all sounded the same to him anyway.

Dean cupped his hands in front of his face and blew into them. His warm breath was comforting for a few minutes, until it cooled off; then his hands were numb again. There were about five or six people ahead of him now. He was almost there. The red carpet he was standing on, and the red velvet rope that snaked down the carpet beside him, made him feel a little out of place. Dean snorted and thought, "The damn velvet separator makes me feel out of place? Geez, Dean, I thought it would be the fact that out of like a hundred people you are the only non rice eating person here." After a few more minutes passed, he was finally at the door. The slim, and very attractive, ticket attendant gave him a very questionable look.

Dean raised an eyebrow flirtatiously, and then held up one finger, "One ticket."

Her accent was hard to decipher as she spoke, "Seven dollar."

Dean cocked his head to the side and nodded in realization. He pulled his wallet out and handed her seven wrinkled ones. He flipped his wallet closed and grabbed his ticket from her before he pushed his way through the mess of people that were just standing by the entrance, gabbing about something. He made it in. Now, to find the owner of this night club.

He made his way to the bar and waited impatiently as the bartender helped someone. Dean watched the man pour a clear liquid into a small white disc, and then hand it to another lady. It was the same liquid Katz had offered him the other day – Sake. Dean thought about trying it, but decided he needed his mind clear, not tampered with. Slow Japanese techno music roared through the air as Dean tried to get the attendant's help. He waved his hands around, trying to draw the man's attention toward him, with no success. Finally the worker noticed him and headed over to him. The man screamed at the top of his lungs when he spoke, "Nani ni nasaimasu ka?"

Dean looked at the man, stunned and confused. The man picked up on Dean's bewilderment and said, this time in English, "What will you have?"

"Oh, nothing," Dean yelled back; his voice was vocally battling the blaring music. It was a war. Who would overpower who? "Who is the owner?"

Dean had obviously won the audible war because the man had heard him, and replied back, "Him," pointing over to the corner of the nightclub.

Dean followed the direction of the man's pointed finger with his gaze and his eyes widened. There, sitting in the corner of the nightclub, in the posh VIP section Dean had noticed earlier, was Katz. Dean starred at the man. Why had he lied? The only way to find out was to go talk to him.

Dean walked over towards the refined Asian man he had met previously that day. He had to push past the sweaty dancing bodies of all the club goers, but he made it. He felt something sticky on his right hand and looked down at it, noticing that glitter was now smeared there. The little sparkles reflected the clubs blinking, blue lights above, creating a shimmering dance of color on his hand.

Dean continued towards Katz's booth. Katz was surrounded by three women, all very gorgeous, and all three of them gushing over him. One of the girls had her hair pulled up in pigtails, while the other two wore there hair down. All three of them were dressed in skimpy club outfits. They, too, were all Asian. Dean looked around; he seriously was the only Caucasian in the whole building.

Katz noticed the flickering shadow on the table, and looked up. "Dean, nice of you to come."


	6. Chapter 6

Thank you everyone for the reviews. I appreciate every single one of them. If you hang on this will all be explained soon. I hope I am not boring you. Enjoy!

Chapter Six

"Sit down, Dean," Katz said, as one of his admirers scooted over, making room for the eldest hunter.

Dean sat down on the plush black leather cushion, and propped his elbows up on the table. "So," Dean said loudly. His voice didn't have to battle the music quite as much over here, but he still needed to speak a little louder for anything he bellowed out to be audible. It seemed as if the VIP room was tucked away deep enough into its own posh crevice that it blocked out some of the music's sound waves. "I thought that you said that Ria… whatever his name is ran this joint."

"He does," Katz stated simply, and then lifted up his glass, taking a sip of the glasses clear contents. He set his drink down, and looked up at Dean smiling.

"Then why did the bartender say you were the owner?" Dean asked inquisitively.

"I am."

"Okay," Dean said, smiling mockingly.

"You asked me if I ran the place, well; I don't. Ritsuka does. I do however own the club. Next time choose your wording a little more carefully, and then you wouldn't have to ask me next time. The answer would be clear," Katz said bluntly.

Katz was wearing the same clothes that he had on earlier that day. Dean could see the lint on Katz's black jacket. The blue neon lights illuminating the glass wall behind him, made the lint stand out on the black cloth. The same effect a black light has when revealing the invisible. Black lights seemed to have that effect, revealing the invisible to the naked eye. Dean noticed the small earring sparkle as Katz turned his head, but he couldn't get a good look at the tiny pendant. The Asian man's hair was pulled back into a short ponytail. The blue lights made the man's fine black hair, shimmer with a blue glow.

"Oh, got it," Dean scoffed, offended by the man's bluntness. "Thanks for the speech, Confucius, but next time maybe you should just say that you owned it, and then this conversation would never had happened." This man had already managed to irritate Dean, with one sentence.

"So, what brings you to my club, Dean?" Katz said, emphasizing on the 'my' in the question. Obviously trying to push Dean's buttons and it was working.

Dean's nerves were already on edge. He didn't need some smart assed man pushing him further. He wanted to punch the man right now, just to relieve some of the pent up tension that was bottled up in his body. Dean forced himself to remain collected; he had too, for Sammy. If Dean went into every situation guns blazing, he would never get the answers that he needed.

"I'm looking for my brother," Dean said, noting that one of the girls had inched her way over towards him. Dean scooted over a little bit further, away from her. He didn't need this kind of a distraction right now, a woman, a hot woman, and a willing woman at that, inching closer to him, no way. Dean moved over a few more inches in the opposite direction of her for added protection.

"Brother?" Katz asked. "Well unless your brother is adopted, I doubt you will find him here. If you haven't noticed everyone's skin color here is a shade darker then yours, Dean."

This was going nowhere. Dean needed answers, and Catherine said they were here, but where? Dean honestly didn't know. He thought that maybe checking with the owner, who seemed like a reputable man this morning, would rule out some of the lingering possibilities. Dean was hitting another dead end, and fast. Maybe after he finished up this fruitless conversation he would search the place.

The music had changed. The Japanese techno that filled the air was replaced with hip-hop music, again not in English. Dean looked at the crowd of people dancing. He stared at the men and women in the club. Their sweat glittered bodies were rubbing up against each other provocatively. The club was dimly lit. The only lights that brightened the enormous wooden dance floor were several blue spotlights.

Dean was about to respond, but something else caught his eye. Katz reached into his pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. He pulled a thin cigarette out, and placed the filtered end in his mouth. He reached into his pocket once more, and pulled out a small box of matches. He lit the match and held the flame in front of his cigarette, puffing a few times before the nicotine filled stick ignited at the end. Dean stared as Katz took a few puffs and then picked up his drink.

Dean's gaze fixed intently on the cigarette. The music in the background fading out as he concentrated on the Asian man's lips. Dean couldn't hear anything now; except for the soft thud from the music's bass rattling in his eardrums. His focus zoomed in on the lit cigarette. Dean watched, as if it was in slow motion, as Katz put the object into his mouth, and sucked in the smoke from the filter. Katz exhaled and a white cloud of smoke rolled through the air. The moisture in the air suspended the smoke, capturing it in its damp-filled grasp. His vision sharpened until he could see the small cracked creases in Katz's thin rose-colored lips. The Asian man was talking, but Dean couldn't hear anything, he was too busy focusing on the small details of the lit cancer stick. At the bottom of the white cigarette, were three metallic green lines. Dean's eyes widened in shock

Son of a bitch! 

Anger flared up inside of Dean. His insides ignited with a force so strong, and so hot, that nothing could extinguish it – it was rage. He knew now. Everything made sense. The pieces of the puzzle locked together tightly. Catherine was right. Dean would find his answers here, and it was sitting right in front of him. The realization of the situation fueled his fury, his ignited rage cindering his inner core. Katz was behind the whole thing. Those stupid death wielding, tar-filled sticks were proof – Katz had kidnapped Sam.

Dean didn't stop to think that maybe Katz's brand of cigarettes were mere coincidence. No, he didn't think that at all. The only thought that passed through his mind was that this man was the one responsible for his brother's abduction. Call it intuition if you will, but he just knew it down to the soles of his feet. And that that last thought would be the deciding factor in his next course of action.

Surging up to his feet in one controlled motion Dean punched Katz.

Dean staggered back a little after the full effects of the impact started to course through his hand. It hurt. He had punched the man hard on his cheek. Dean's fist had connected with Katz's cheekbone. Turning the man's skin bright red from the force of the blow. Noticing a thin line of blood trickling down the side of Katz's mouth, Dean smiled in satisfaction.

Katz wiped the blood off his face with a napkin that had been lying on the table. He glared at Dean, and smirked, "Care to tell me what that was about?"

"Where the hell is my brother you fuc—"

"Dean, there is no need for obscenities. This is a reputable business I run—own," Katz corrected, but he did so mockingly. "I don't have your brother. I have clearly stated that."

"You are a lying bastard," Dean said, his hand balled up into a fist, ready to strike again.

"See you soon, Dean," Katz said callously.

Dean stared at the man utterly dumbfounded. Understanding came to him all to well once two strong arms grabbed his arms, and started to drag him out of the club. Katz stood up, and stopped the men. Dean glared at him with pure hatred. This man was responsible, he knew it. Dean struggled against the two security guards, but couldn't break their hold.

"Toss him out the back door. It is fitting. That is where we throw out our trash," Katz sneered, and then shook his head.

"Funny, the only trash I see here, is standing right in front of me," Dean said comically. He knew his come back was weak, but his brain was so frazzled from the adrenaline and the constant thoughts of Sammy, that he couldn't comprehend a good come back, let alone say one that was coherent enough.

When Katz shook his head from side to side, Dean saw it, the pendant dangling from Katz's ear. It was a small silver circle with lines woven in and out from the center, and at the meeting point of the lines was a little red stone. Dean knew immediately – it was the symbol.

The two body guards pushed Dean through a set of double doors. They let go of him as soon as they passed through the entrance way. The man on the right pulled out a gun and pointed the black pistol at Dean. Dean lifted up his hands in a surrendering manner.

"Whoa, take it easy fellas," Dean said.

One of the guards pushed Dean towards the backdoor. "Move," he ordered.

Sam groggily opened his eyes. He wished he hadn't, though. As soon as his mind released the last lingering thought of his slumber educed state, the pain returned. His stomach still throbbed with an everlasting ache. Sam was sure it was that last cut that the Asian man had administered. God, it hurt. He was also cold, very cold. The damp basement was no place to be when your body was open to the elements on a freezing concrete stone slab. Sam's arms were still covered, though. The man had sliced down the middle of his sweatshirt and undershirt, but they still covered his arms, they were never fully removed. His stomach was the only thing exposed, and the chill that was brushing over his blood soaked torso, was making the young hunter shiver.

He lifted his head slightly, but immediately regretted doing so. His head ached with a blinding pain that was shooting through his brain. He set his head back down, and tried to assess his current situation. The headache, the body aches, and the chills – he had a fever. Sam felt as if his head was going to explode, like there were tiny little metal beads ricocheting inside his head, but only bouncing around in the small space in-between his brain and his skull. So each time one of the beads hit its mark inside of his head, it spiked with tremendous pain, and pressure.

The body aches he could deal with. They were most likely a combination from the various gashes on his body, and his body's feverish state. He couldn't stop shivering, though. He wanted someone to wrap him up in a warm fuzzy blanket, and keep his body heat enclosed in the warm comforts of the cloth, but he knew that wasn't going to happen. His teeth were chattering too, clicking together uncontrollably. He could hear it in his head, as his bottom molars collided with his upper ones. The annoying clatter of his teeth was adding on to the pile up in his brain, making his headache even more unbearable.

Sam could hear the bass from the music upstairs rattling the ceiling above him. He could make out the tonal pattern, but it sounded muffled. He listened intently, as someone's body hit the door at the top of the stairs with a loud thud. Something was going on upstairs. Maybe someone was here to save him? Sam was hoping, and he would cling onto that hope. He was sick, tortured, and just wanted a damn blanket.

He heard someone, a man, yelling at another person. He couldn't make out the words, not yet. His brain was still foggy from the fever, and the pain, but he concentrated. He closed his eyes, and focused his hearing on the commotion that was going on upstairs.

"I said, move!" Sam heard it. Someone _was_ yelling at someone. The man's voice was still barely audible, but at least he heard it.

"Whoa, I said take it easy fellas. I am moving. Back off!"

Sam knew that voice. That was the voice that usually comforted him when he had a fever, the voice of the man that had practically raised him, the voice of the person that had protected him for over twenty years – Dean! Dean was upstairs!

Sam's heart started beating rapidly, each vigorous thump warming the inside of his body. He had to yell out to Dean, let him know he was down here. Sam opened his parched lips and spoke, "Dean."

His heart rate increased, he could barely speak. What he had just said was nothing but a whisper. He squeezed his hands together out of frustration, and tried again. "Dean," again, it was a horse whisper.

Sam was starting to panic. He hadn't heard his brother again. What if Dean left? What if Dean left him down here? Sam was determined to call out to his brother.

"Dean. Dean. Dean. Dean. Dean," Each time his brothers name passed his dry lips it strengthened in volume.

"Is this the way you treat all of your customers? Talk about bad service," Dean said, as his voice was carried through the small wooden door, making it harder for Sam to hear, but he at least heard it.

Dean was still here! He had to try again. Sam swallowed hard, and took in a deep breath, and then yelled with all the strength he could muster, "Dean!"

Sam's plea carried through the basement and up the stairs. It made its way to the hallway where the two goons were, but slammed into the metal door as it was closing.

Sam knew. As soon as he heard the loud thud of the door upstairs closing, he knew. Dean was gone, and Dean hadn't heard him. He felt so useless right now. The door at the top of the stairs opened and light flooded into the dark basement. A chill trickled down the young hunter's spine when he saw who it was - Katz.

Dean was pushed through the back door, and landed on his back. The two goons laughed at him, and then slammed the metal door shut. Dean stood up and brushed the dirt and gravel off of his clothes. He sighed dejectedly and headed back for the Impala.

He reached his car, he opened the door long enough to slide inside. Dean leaned his back into the seat, the leather upholstery squeaking when the older hunter shifted his weight. He pulled out the small white piece of paper Catherine had given him, and flipped it over. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his cell phone. He dialed the number that was written on the crinkled sheet, and waited. A woman answered, and instantly Dean recognized who it was.

"Catherine," Dean said into the receiver. "I need your help."


	7. Chapter 7

Everyone, I am so sorry. The good news is I am back on track. I got kind of got stuck writing chapter ten, and then eleven. So, until I finished them I didn't want to rush it with posting. But the other thing was I was in Florida, and my trip was extended (Not by choice). So, here is seven. I will update daily or every other day from here on out. I promise. I love you all. Thank you for your reviews. Lo

Chapter Seven

Dean walked up to the front door of the address Catherine had given him, her address. He looked at the house with fearful apprehension. The green painted, vinyl sided, blue trimmed house held answers inside of it. Dean stood on the concrete steps and looked up at the night sky. God, he hoped she could answer some of his question. He was starting to sound like a broken record. Each place he went to he had hoped for answers, and yes, he was starting to get some of them, but not enough. He still didn't have Sam.

Just like Dean had predicted back at the club, it started to snow. Little white frozen crystals started to collect on his navy blue pea coat. He smiled and brushed the flakes off of his shoulders. He looked up at the sky again, but instead of the black star embedded heavens, all he could see were white specs falling down towards him, falling heavily now. Dean stared in awe as the white flurries started to dance around in the air more vigorously. One frozen flake landed on his eyelash; he could see the snowflake in his peripheral vision as the shimmering white sliver of snow started to melt. Dean could see the beautiful shape, or symbol, of the snow starting to dissipate.

Dean laughed at the irony that one small object held inside its frozen form. A symbol? Dean smirked. Why had he thought of it as a symbol? Maybe it was symbolic of many things like winter, and Christmas, but the snowflake's shape itself wasn't a symbol. Was it? This whole damn mess had started with a symbol. The symbol Dean was searching for. And then he had found it dangling from the ear of Katsuya. Maybe the snow was just mocking him, laughing at him in its representative splendor. Dean shook his head, and walked up the rest of the stairs. "Man," he thought, "I need to sleep."

Dean knocked on Catherine's front door and waited. He heard someone shuffling around inside and then the lock on the inside clicked and the door swung open. Catherine was standing there, staring at Dean. She looked flustered. Her blond hair was a mess, pulled back into a bun, strays flying wildly around the top of her head. She had on a blue apron with daisies delicately embroidered on it that was decorated with a heap of flour.

"Come in, boy. The weather is awfully dreadful," she said, motioning for Dean to enter her fireplace-warmed house.

Dean entered the house, brushing the half melted snowflakes off of his coat. He followed her into the living room and sat down on her sofa. Catherine sat down on the chair next to him only to suddenly get up and bolt out of the room. Dean took this moment to look around her house; there was a crackling fire burning in a fireplace, above it was a brick mantel that had various framed pictures strewn across it. Dean stood up and walked over to look at them.

He picked up the first picture frame and smiled. It was a picture of Catherine and a baby. She was a lot younger then than what she currently was, so he assumed it must have been her baby. He set the picture down, and moved on to the next one. He didn't pick the frame up this time. Instead he stared at the picture intensely – it was Tabby. Catherine must have been her mother, the owner of the diner. That made sense now. They both were the only ones in the town with British accents. Dean mentally kicked himself in the head; it should have been so obvious. Tabby was wearing a cap and gown in the picture, her graduation picture. Dean moved onto the next picture. It was a picture of a young boy, maybe in his late teens or early twenties. He was smiling and holding a soccer ball in his hand. Dean picked up the picture and stared at it.

Catherine came back and noticed Dean staring at the picture. She had two tea cups in her hand and set them down on the side table. Dean heard the clatter from the glass hitting the table and looked up. Catherine smiled solemnly at Dean and walked over towards him.

"That was Benjamin, my son," she said with a sigh. "He loved football. It was his passion."

"What happened to him? If you don't mind my asking," Dean said, carefully choosing his words.

"No, it would have come up in our conversation anyway. Come sit, and drink some tea. Then I will tell you about Benji," she said, her smile sweetening slightly.

They both sat and Catherine leaned over her chair and picked up one of the tea cups, handing one to Dean. Dean lifted the rim of the cup right underneath his nose and sniffed the liquid. It smelled like mint; deliciously aromatic. He sipped it and looked up at Catherine, waiting for her to start the conversation.

Catherine understood what that look meant, and started speaking. "Benjamin, my son, was sacrificed," she blurted out.

Hearing the word sacrificed caught Dean off guard. He spit the tea back into his cup and stared at her in disbelief. "Excuse me, he was sacrificed? Don't tell me that is what is happening to my brother."

She lifted her hands and gently set them in her lap. Her eyes locked with Dean's as she spoke, "I'm afraid it is. The leader of that cult, or coven, is Katz. He is the one who killed my Benji."

"How? I mean why… What about Tabby? She didn't seem too fazed by all this! Hell, she was the bitch that set my brother up!" Dean yelled.

"That bitch is still my daughter, so watch your tongue. And I am sorry about that. Tabby is blinded by Katz, just as I was… I was until they took my son's life. Then I realized how wrong I was to follow some man with idle hopes of resurrecting this God, as Katz calls him, but he isn't anything but a monster. I saw him… that thing." She paused and closed her eyes, as if she was remembering all of the small details of her son's death. "The thing that started to come forth, is who Katz and the others worship; their God."

"So you are saying some demon worshipping freaks have my brother?" Dean asked. "How do I kill it? Why do they want Sammy? Where is he?" Dean popped out one question after another. He was finally getting some answers, and he didn't want to miss any vital answers, so he asked all of the questions at once.

"I don't know how to kill it… Your brother," she paused again, and looked directly at Dean, "did he ever encounter a demon? I mean something evil that might have touched him?"

He lifted a curious brow, and stared at Catherine quizzically. "How did… I mean… yeah. Why?"

"I'll get to that, but first let's cover some things. Your brother isn't the first. There have been others, a lot of others. You won't find any of their names anymore. Katz runs everything. He has everyone in this town believing in this master of his. Police reports, newspapers, everything… He makes it as if that person doesn't exist anymore," she said, picking up her cup, but she didn't drink it. She set the cup in her lap and traced her finger around the top of the cup.

"I found that one out already. I tried to file a missing persons report, but the fat pig at the desk told me he didn't exist," Dean said angrily, thinking about his visit to the police station.

"You won't find one either, a file on him anymore that is. They make it as if that person was never born. I don't know how they do it. I mean… you think that someone would have caught on, but it has worked so far…" she trailed off, and then set her cup back down on the side table. "That symbol, the one that Katz wears, he can sense everyone in the coven. Everyone else bears the symbol on his or her body, but Katz… Katz he wears it – his earring. Everyone else has a tattoo somewhere, like mine," she said as she lifted up the sleeve of her shirt, revealing a black tattooed symbol on her forearm.

Dean set his tea down on the side table. He leaned over and traced the symbol lightly with his index finger. "What does it mean?"

"A lot of things, but I don't have time to go into detail. Katz probably knows you are here already—."

"How? I mean, he is at that fancy club that he owns," Dean smirked, adding sarcasm to his tone.

"That symbol connects us all. We are all part of the coven," she replied solemnly.

"Even Tabby?"

"Yes," Catherine said flatly. "She is blinded by it. Even when they offered up her own brother, she didn't think twice… She handed him over, and watched him die."

"Why Sam?" Dean asked nervously.

"It gets complicated, but I will try to explain it the best I can. Your brother, as all of us, has an essence around us… like an aura. It is what makes us human. When your brother encountered that demon, it left a mark, a dark mark." She looked directly at Dean. "They need him to bring forth the demon, use him like a portal. Something with a human aura, but demonic as well."

"Sam's no demon," Dean interjected angrily.

"I know, but when that demon touched him it left that mark. I could sense it in him when he came to the diner that night," she said, averting her gaze towards the fireplace. She knew what Dean was thinking. "I am sorry I lied. He was there that night."

"Yeah, well…" Dean didn't know what to say. Did he forgive her? No. But he needed to stay calm, because as of right now she was the only one giving him the answers. "Where is Sam? And when is this ritual going to take place?"

"I don't know when the ritual will be. They probably have started some of it—."

Dean cut her off before she could finish, "What do you mean, started some of it?"

She kept her gaze fixed on the crackling fire. She couldn't face him. She lowered her head slightly, and whispered, "He is probably already bound to Katz."

"You mean… the symbol?" Dean asked fearfully.

"Binding one to the coven is a ritual on its own. I can't sense it, though. Only Katz can sense us all."

"This is some crazy shit lady. How do I stop it, break the ritual," Dean inquired.

"All you have to make sure of is that Sam—."

Before Catherine could continue her front door burst open, sending snow flying wildly into the foyer. The cold breeze flickered the fire in the fireplace. Catherine and Dean shot up out of their seats and stared at the front door. Someone was there, Dean could hear a muffled clap coming from outside. Then someone came in from the outside, black coat littered with white snowflakes, and he was clapping his leather-gloved hands together. It was Katz.

"Job well done, Dean," Katz said, smiling sarcastically at the hunter, and then stopped clapping and stared at Catherine sternly. "Catherine, you disappoint me," Katz said as he dusted the snow off of his jacket. "Here I made you part of our coven, and you betray me?"

Dean didn't need to hear anymore. Katz had just openly admitted that he was the leader. It wasn't like he hadn't believed Catherine, but hearing the information straight from the guilty suspect made it a closed case.

Dean leapt over the sofa and charged at Katz. He was inches from punching the Asian man in the face when he heard Catherine scream. Dean turned around quickly and stared wide-eyed at the scene he had turned around to face. Catherine was being held at gunpoint by another man, one of the security guards from the nightclub. Dean turned back around to glare at Katz.

"Let her go," Dean warned, spite for the man laced in every word.

"Or what?" Katz said with a smile. "You are in no position to demand anything from me." Katz looked at the man who was holding Catherine and nodded. "Kill her."

The man didn't hesitate – he pulled the trigger. Dean closed his eyes and looked away as blood and brain matter spilled from the fresh bullet hole in the side of Catherine's head, splattering across her sofa, and unfortunately across Dean's face as well. He felt the warm blood dripping down the side of his face. She was dead. All of his answers, and hopes for answers, gone. Just like that.

Dean couldn't help but feel empathetic for the older women. She had died helping him. That was a heavy burden to carry – someone's death. He heard a loud thud and looked back over towards the security guard. He had dropped Catherine onto the floor like a child's overused rag doll. Dean stared unfocused at the dead women. The shadows on her body flickered as the light from the fire moved; blood poured out from the wound in her head. He felt a pain in his heart as he stared at her - it was remorse.

Dean turned his attention back towards Katz. He wanted nothing more then to kill this man. He bit his bottom lip harshly, trying to hold back the rage that boiled deep within his veins. Katz took off one of his gloves and stuffed it into his coat, and then he did the same with the other hand. He walked over to Catherine's body and kicked it. He had no sympathy for the life he had just ordered someone to take.

"One problem taken care of," Katz said, and then turned and looked up at Dean. His lips curled up into a thin smile and he licked his lips. "I have a job for you, Dean."


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

"A job?" Dean looked at the man in disbelief. He had kidnapped his brother, killed this woman in front of him, and now had the audacity to ask him, no; tell him he had a job for him. Dean was furious.

"I can understand you are mad at me–"

Dean interjected angrily, "Mad? Oh, I am not mad at you. I am pissed beyond any reasoning going to rip your freaking head off furious. Not mad."

"Well," Katz said with a chuckle, and then looked down at Catherine with a frown he continued. "Let's take this conversation outside. The atmosphere and scenery in this house is awful."

Dean was happy to oblige to that request. Catherine's dead body was a vivid reminder that he had failed the woman, all because he had gone to her for answers. Dean couldn't help but feel guilty. He looked back at her dead body one last time, and then exited the house. He needed to stay focused right now. There would be plenty of time to feel sorrowful for her death later, but right now he needed to face this monster of a man that had kidnapped his baby brother.

Dean stepped onto the snow covered front porch. There was a good few inches on the ground now. The white blanket of fresh snow crunched underneath his feet as he walked down the steps, each footstep leaving behind a fresh imprint. There were still flurries whirling around in the air, but they weren't dancing as wildly as they had been before. Little snow crystals started collecting on Dean's coat again. He could feel some of them land in-between the spikes of his hair, melting slowly, and then dripping down his scalp. Dean lifted up the arm to his jacket and stared at the white flakes that had landed on his coat.

"_Dean?" _

"_Yeah, buddy."_

"_Who makes the snow?"_

"_Angels."_

_Sammy looked up at his older brother in amazement. "Angels?"_

"_Yep. When the angels ice skate, their ice shavings fall down from the sky."_

"_Do you think Mommy is making it snow for us right now?"_

_Dean sighed and looked up at the clouds, little white specs of snow falling all around five-year old Sammy and him. He smiled sweetly at his brother. "Yeah, Sammy, I think she is."_

Dean looked at the snow that was still collecting on his arm. He brushed it off, and exhaled deeply. If only he were that naïve again. God, and angels, Dean had lost that hope years ago, but Sammy always stayed positive, always. If he were here right now, he would tell Dean that Mom was looking out for them. He always loved the snow after Dean had told him that. Dean was pulled back from his thoughts when he heard Katz cough slightly.

"Reminiscing, Dean?" the Asian man said with a smirk.

"Shut up," Dean scoffed. "What do you want?"

Katz knelt down and dipped his finger in the snow. He lifted it up and put his finger in his mouth, and then looked up at Dean. "Odd, isn't it? Snow is so sweet, yet it is merely frozen ice."

"Get to the point. I don't have time to I don't have time to waste with your ass," Dean said, as he turned to face the man completely.

"Right… time. Who has time? Oh, I know who doesn't," Katz smiled vindictively at Dean, and folded his arms in towards his chest, "Sam."

Dean licked his bottom lip and cocked his head to the side. He closed his eyes briefly and inhaled. When he opened his eyes he glared directly at the man, not saying a word. Dean shifted his footing slightly, the snow crunching underneath his feet again as he moved, and stepped forwards slowly.

Katz watched in anticipation, never moving. Dean stood in front of Katz, and balled his hand up into a fist. Neither of them spoke a word; they just stared at one another. Dean squeezed his fingers into his palm tightly, the cold had painfully numbed the tips of his thin digits, making his fingers burn as his blood rushed towards his aggravated hand.

Dean stared at the man, who had taken the most important thing in his life away, with total revulsion. This man had never touched Dean, but he was still ripping the hunter apart piece by piece. Dean felt like he was the rock, or at least had to be, the strong pillar that stood tall, strongly. But the longer Sammy was gone, Dean, the strong pillar, disintegrated. Like the strong rock that he was supposed to be, had an outpour of water cascading over it, and over time, each droplet of water would slowly erode the rock that it washed over. The longer that this charade went on, more pieces of Dean were falling apart. The more time passed, the harder it is to keep all of those pieces into one stable unit, to keep it complete.

Dean let his fingers fall loosely to his side, the pressure from the fist he had formed making his fingers feel inanimate and numb. The blood rushed towards the tips of his fingers, and Dean could move them once again. He lifted up his hand absentmindedly, and stared at it. The tips of his thin fingers were bright red, and puffy, mostly likely a reaction to the cold. Dean looked past his hand, right in-between his fingers, directly at Katz. He didn't know what had possessed him at that moment, but he lifted his hand back, forming a fist, and struck the man hard across the face.

Katz staggered backwards; his hand pressed firmly on the tender flesh of his face, and in shock looked intently at Dean. Dean took this opportune moment and lunged full force at Katz. He grabbed the Asian man by the waist and pulled his body down with his. They both landed in a heap of snow that went flying wildly around their bodies. Dean quickly moved over and jumped on top of the man, straddling him.

Katz reached up and grabbed his earring, and then spoke to Dean calmly, the brooding hunter on top of his small body obviously fazing him the least, "Don't."

"Give me one reason why I shouldn't beat the shit out of you right now," Dean hissed in anger.

"You do, and he dies," Katz said plainly.

"How? I have the upper hand," Dean replied sternly with a smile.

"Do you?" Katz smiled back at Dean, humorously lifting a brow. "Kill me, and you kill him. Punch me and you punch him. Those are the perks of being a leader of a cult. I give the orders, and they listen. They can sense if something should happen to me, I have made it that way. So, I ask you again. Do you?"

Dean cursed under his breath, the smile wiped completely clear from his face, and glared at the man, "How do I know you aren't lying?"

"Is that a risk you are willing to take?" Katz asked honestly.

Dean shook his head and got off of the man. Katz stood up, a low grunt escaping his lips as his body straightened. He brushed the snow off of his coat, and then pulled out his gloves that he had previously tucked into his jacket pocket. He slid them on and then reached behind his head, pulling the small black hair tie that held his hair up. He smoothed the lumps and loose hairs back with his hand, and then retied it again. His look was complete now, and refined.

"Good," Katz started the conversation. "Now, I have a job for you, Dean."

"So I've heard," Dean replied sarcastically.

Katz reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. He put his lips up to the opened box and pulled out one of the sticks with his mouth. He then closed the box, and delicately placed it back in his pocket, but when he brought his hand out it wasn't empty. The box of cigarettes had been replaced with a small box of matches. Katz lit a match quickly and held it in front of his cigarette. Satisfied that the object was properly lit he threw the match on the ground.

Taking a puff of the cigarette before he spoke, he looked at Dean. "I need you to get something for me."

"What?" Dean question curiously.

"An object, of no importance. Will you do it?" Katz said, drawing the cigarette up towards his mouth, and inhaled the smoke from the filter slowly. He held the smoke in his lungs for a few seconds, and then released it, blowing the cloud out into the cold air.

"No," Dean replied curtly.

"Then your brother dies," Katz said, taking another deadly puff from his cigarette.

"How do I know he isn't already… dead," Dean's replied, his voice slightly shaken at the thought that his brother might actually be dead.

"One, if he were dead, I wouldn't be taking to you. And two, well… just trust me he is alive."

"Trust you?" Dean said, taken aback at the man's ludicrous statement. "Prove it."

"Okay." Katz reached into his pocket and pulled out a small thin black cell phone. He flipped it open and pressed down one of the numbers. He waited, while Dean questionably stared at him, for someone to pick up.

"Moshimoshi, Shin," Katz spoke quietly into the receiver. He dropped his cigarette in the snow, and then placed his free hand into his front jacket pocket. "Sam wa irasshaimasu ka?"

Dean couldn't help but feel a little out of the loop. He cursed mentally. Why hadn't he paid attention to those late night Japanese cartoons that had come on the television? Dean waited impatiently for the man to finish whatever conversation he was having with the other person on the phone.

Katz walked closer to Dean, his hand still in his pocket, and handed the cell phone to Dean. "Here."

Dean's nervous butterflies were back, but they brought their evil buddies along with them – the apprehensive caterpillars. Now Dean had two creatures crawling and fluttering around in his stomach. The nervous butterflies tickling his stomach, and the apprehensive caterpillars twisting his insides as they latched onto the sides of his stomach. He knew who was going to be on the other line of the phone, and that is what scared him. He hadn't seen his brother, and didn't know how he was. Now after one whole day of worry and mental anguish, he was going to get to talk to him. Dean felt like he was getting ready for his first day of school, with questions filling up his brain, but instead of questions like: What will my teacher be like? They were questions like: Is my brother hurt?

Dean unsteadily lifted the speaker part up to his ear. Dean tried to speak, but nothing came out. He cleared his throat and spoke in a low scratchy voice, "Sam?"

He could hear someone breathing heavily on the other end. Then he heard it. The voice he had been longing to hear for almost twenty-four hours – Sam.

"Dean?" Sam's voice was barely a whisper.

"You have no idea how good it is to hear your voice, man," Dean said, a sweet smile spreading across his face.

"Likewise," Sam's hoarse voice carried through the receiver.

"Sammy…" Dean paused and then looked at Katz. He lowered his voice a notch, trying to make it harder to hear for Katz that was listening in on their conversation. "Did they hurt you?"

Sam chuckled lightly. If Dean could see the wide lopsided humored grin that was spread across his face right now, he would be laughing too. "It's Sam, Dean. And I'm peachy."

"Peachy? What the hell is that supposed to mean? Did those bastards hurt you at all?" Dean pressed further.

"Dean," Sam paused, and then started to cough violently.

"Sammy!" Dean yelled into the receiver, but no sound was returned. He flipped over the phone and stared at the main LCD screen. It was flashing the minutes that he and Sam had talked for. The phone call had been disconnected.

"What's wrong with my brother? Who ended that call?" Dean snapped, and held Katz's phone in his hand tightly.

"He is alive, isn't he? That is what you wanted." Katz outstretched his hand, gesturing for Dean to give him back his phone. Dean complied, and slapped the phone roughly into Katz's palm.

"What do you want me to do?" Dean asked angrily.


	9. Chapter 9

Okay guys. I am so sorry. I honestly had forgotten I had put this story over here. A good friend of my, Windyfontaine, reminded me. Hey, don't leave these guys hanging. The good news is this story is finished, and done. So, from here on out I am going to update a chapter a day, maybe two, to get it out there. THANK YOU, everyone that has reviewed. My reviews have dropped dramatically since I started, and I am thinking it is because of my neglect to posting. Anyways. Enjoy! Lots of love. Lo

Chapter Nine

"I need you to steal something for me," Katz said nonchalantly, as he pulled his pack of cigarettes out from his jacket pocket.

"Steal something? Now you want me to become a criminal?" Dean bellowed, obviously flabbergasted by the Asian man's outlandish request.

Katz, clearly paying no mind to Dean's sudden outburst, puffed on his newly lit cigarette. "Like you haven't stolen anything before, Dean."

Dean contemplated the accusation briefly, and then spoke, "What do I need to steal?"

A cold breeze blew through the air, carrying with it a fresh patch of snowy flurries. They moved around Katz as he inhaled a mouthful of smoke from his cigarette. He didn't even bother discharging the smoke from his lungs as he spoke, "I'll get to that, later. But what is more important right now, is where the item is."

"So, where is it? And what do I get out of this?" Dean said, knowing that inevitably there was always something the bad guy offers the good guy, as sort of a bargain for their nonsensical requests.

"I'll let you see your brother," Katz answered.

And there it was. The bargain. Should someone really make a deal with the devil? Dean Winchester had thought about that question before. If something really evil wanted him to do its bidding, would he do it? When he had thought about it before, the answer was always no. Hell, no. Why would anyone make a deal with something evil? He chuckled slightly under his breath. As many times as he had convinced himself he would say no, yet; here he was, and he knew what his answer would be. The situation was just too ironic.

Without vacillation, Dean spoke confidently, "When do I leave?" And with four words, he signed his name on that evil indenture, the dotted line dripping with his blood, sealing his decision. But when it came to Sam, Dean would do almost anything, no; not almost, he would do _anything_ for Sam.

Katz threw his cigarette to the ground, and the fire-red ash on the top of the nicotine stick sizzled out as soon as it touched the snow. "Now."

Dean walked towards his car, but stopped when something grabbed his arm. He looked over his shoulder, directly into the eyes of Katz, who was holding his right bicep. The Asian man smiled, "There is one catch, though. I'm going with you."

The side of Dean's mouth twitched as he smiled unbelievingly, "You've got to be kidding me."

"Hardly," Katz said, and released his hold on Dean's arm. "Let's go."

Dean rolled his eyes, and huffed out of frustration. He grumbled under his breath, "Do this for, Sammy. Then kill this son-of-a-bitch."

Dean unlocked the doors to the Impala, and plopped into the driver's seat. He turned the key in the ignition, and the car roared to life. He immediately turned on the heater, and waited. Katz got in shortly after, and sat down in the passenger's seat – Sammy's seat. Dean shivered, but not from the cold, from the sheer fact that his brother's kidnapper was sitting in his seat. It made Dean ill, but he was going to get through this for his little brother. Steal the stupid thing that Katz wanted him to, and then he would get to see Sam. Then he could figure out a way to get his brother out of there.

Dean backed out of Catherine's driveway, and head down the street, still not knowing exactly where he was going. He thought this would be the most opportune time to ask the bastard sitting in his brother's spot. "Where are we going?"

"I'll just show you the way. Up the next light turn left, towards the interstate," Katz said, pointing to the upcoming light with his left index finger.

Dean drove in complete silence, the occasional clanking of the heating vent breaking the silence that settled itself thickly between the two men. One hour later they arrived at their final destination. Dean parked the car on the side of the street, and looked at the building he was about to break into. It was a small house, actually in the middle of nowhere. There were no other buildings around, except this one. It was a brown painted house, with dark cherry trim. There was a rustic looking sign dangling from the top of the house by two chains. It read: Wicks N' Stick's. Dean shook his head. Where the hell were they?

"Okay, now that we are here. I can tell you what I need from that store," Katz said, breaking Dean's current concentration on the old house.

"And that is?" Dean asked impatiently.

Katz looked out the window towards the direction of the house. It was still snowing, and it seemed as if the sprinkling of the ice crystals wasn't going to stop anytime soon. "An amulet. I need an amulet out of there. The best way to describe it is that is looks kind of like my earring," Katz said and moved his head to the side so Dean could get a better look at the silver pendant hanging from his left ear.

"Where is it?" Dean questioned, as he turned off the Impala, pocketing his keys.

"I don't know, exactly. I do know that it is in the store," Katz said with a smile, as if he was trying to lighten the mood.

"No shit Sherlock. I didn't think you would bring me here if you assumed it was in the house," Dean replied sarcastically, as he opened the driver's side door and got out.

Katz followed Dean around to the back of the car. Dean pulled out his keys, and unlocked the trunk. Various weapons lay strewn in the back, but neatly ordered. Dean flipped through some of the items, and then grabbed a small black box – His lock pick kit. Then he grabbed a silver nine millimeter handgun, and placed it in his waistband, the gun resting firmly against his back. He grabbed one more item from the trunk, a small black flashlight.

Katz looked at Dean curiously, and arched a brow. "So what is it that you and your brother do?"

Dean slammed the trunk lid down, and smiled curtly at Katz, "None of your damn business."

Katz didn't reply. The Winchester brothers' were very unusual people. It made him a little nervous now, given the amount of firearms this young man had stashed in the back of his car. What else didn't he know about them? He would have to keep a watchful eye on Dean, now.

Dean approached the house and walked up the wooden steps towards the front door. He kneeled down on one leg, and pulled the small silver-like stick from the black box. He placed the stick in the keyhole and fiddled around with it, trying to pop the lock on the door. Satisfied when he heard a little click, he turned the door knob. It opened with an eerie creak and Dean stood up. He didn't even bother to look back at Katz as he walked into the store.

The place smelled like a mixture of lilacs and stale incense, and other mixtures of aromas, it was stomach curdling. It felt like Dean had walked into one of those perfume shops, and got hit with the brunt of forty different fragrances. He pulled out the small flashlight, and turned it on. Through the small beam of the flashlight Dean could see the tiny orbs of dust fluttering around the room. He scanned the left side of the room until the light passed over a door hidden in the corner of the small store. On his right he could see a foggy glass counter, with a cash register sitting on top. Over the counter were three built-in shelves. Dean headed towards the counter and hopped over it.

On the other side now Dean started to glance at the various items on the shelves. So far no amulet. After being totally grossed out when he touched a pair of eyes, which; he thought were fake, but obviously weren't by the slick squishiness of their texture, he stumbled upon a small red cedar box. Gripping the small flashlight in his teeth, he grabbed the dusty box off of the shelf. Dean opened the box, and let out a sigh of relief. He was sure this was the amulet Katz was talking about. It was about the size of Dean's inner palm. There was a thick round silver circle, and a quarter-sized red stone in the center. Inside the iridescent stone Dean could see dark lines swirling throughout, following the lines that were embedded in the stone with his fingertips. Dean traced each line from the center of the amulet to the edge of the circle. The lines formed six different individual spaced out loops. The spacing of the six loops that went around the circle reminded him of a flower. The top loop had a silver chain attached to it. He was certain now that this was the amulet. It resembled the symbol on Katz's earring almost too perfectly. He shut the box, and put it under his arm and leapt up on top of the glass counter. Dean was about to step off of it as a burst of light flooded the room. The sudden illumination clouded his vision.

_Shit,_ he thought. He had been caught. His heart pounded wildly as a thick heavy set black woman came tumbling through the door. Dean cursed again when he noticed the woman was holding a shotgun in her hand.

She held the gun up and fired off a round, her enormous breasts jiggling from the recoil of the gun. The bullet shattered the glass that Dean was standing on and he fell into the broken counter, the merchandise crunching under his back as he fell on top of it. She stalked over towards Dean, and his already pounding heart beat faster. She had a set of curlers in her hair and a long white nightgown. Over her nightgown was a see-through pink robe, the ends of the sleeves were a feathery ring of pink puff.

Dean tried to sit up fast enough and grab his gun, but the woman was faster. She was already standing over him. He sat up and grinned sheepishly. "Uh… hi," he said, as he lifted up his hand and waved at her.

"Boy, I don't know what you are doing in my house, but if you are trying to steal something from me, well; give me one good reason I shouldn't shoot your ass right now," the woman hollered, raising the gun, and pointing it directly at Dean.

He couldn't think of a logical response. So, he did the only thing Dean Winchester knew how to do in a threatening situation, reply with a smartass comment. "One reason, I am too handsome to be disfigured by a gunshot wound," he said, his brow rising innocently, while his goofy grin silently pleaded for her agreeing amusement.

The woman put her finger on the trigger and slowly started to pull it back. Dean cursed for his stupidity of his body's initial shock of the situation, slowing his actions down and not allowing him the time to grab his gun, and prepared for the most likely fatal impact of the bullet.

Just as the woman was about to shoot, the front door flew open and Katz waltzed in. He had the biggest smile on his face right now. The woman set the gun down and walked over towards Katz. Dean stared in surprise as the woman grabbed Katz and pulled him into a tight embrace. She was hugging him! Dean took this moment to get out of the busted case he was currently lying in. He stood up and brushed the broken glass off of the back of his jeans. He took a step away from the counter, the broken glass crunching under his feet, and made his way towards Katz.

The two stopped hugging and turned to face Dean. Dean was amazed at how much the woman resembled Missouri, well; if Missouri was a shotgun wielding, fluffy pink robed wearing black woman, but other then that she resembled the psychic lady perfectly.

"Why didn't you just say you were a friend of, Katz's? I would have let you in. You didn't have to go sneaking around my shop," she said, as she moved closer to Dean, her plunging neckline moving closer to the young hunter.

Dean backed up a step, her oversized bosom trying to close the space in-between them as she walked closer. "I'm not,"

She paused and turned to Katz. "He's not," Katz said, as he shook his head.

"Oh," she said, utterly confused.

"I just thought it would be funny to have him break in, and you give him a scare," Katz said with a humorous smile.

Dean was furious. He yelled at Katz, "This was a setup!"

"No, no, Dean," Katz said, while shaking his hands in a disapproving manner. "I do need the amulet, don't get me wrong. But did you have to break in? No."

Dean's jaw dropped slightly as he stared at the man. "So this was all just a big laugh for you? You could have waltzed in here and gotten the freaking' thing on your own?"

"Yes, I could have. I ordered it weeks ago. But where is the fun in that?" Katz said, completely amused with the current situation. "Dorcus and I go way back. She was holding the amulet for me."

Given the severity and seriousness of the situation, Dean shouldn't have laughed, but he did. As soon as Katz had said the woman's name, Dean snickered. The lady leaned over and smacked Dean in the back of the head. He looked at her appalled that she had actually hit him.

"Dorcus is a biblical name. Boy, I don't want to hear you make fun of my name, or I won't think twice about shooting that pretty little face of yours," Dorcus warned. Giving her stance she wasn't messing around. She had one hand on her hip, as she waved her finger around in the air frowningly. Dean hushed, and the woman turned her attention back towards Katz. "So, you want the amulet?"

He nodded. She reached over at Dean and yanked the box out from underneath his arm. He had forgotten it was there, and couldn't believe that after the fall it had managed to remain tightly secure in his underarm. Dorcus handed the box over to Katz, who then thoroughly inspected its contents. Satisfied with the merchandise, he looked up at Dean.

"Let's go," Katz said, as he turned around heading for the front door. "Thanks Dor. I'll pay for the counter, just send me a bill, okay?"

"Okay, sweetie. Next time warn me before you pull a stunt like that. I damn near killed the boy," she said, as she walked behind the counter.

Katz turned around and grinned pleasingly, "Wouldn't have mattered to me."

Dean shook his head and closed his eyes, as he pushed past Katz and walked out the door. He muttered inaudibly, "This is for, Sammy. Then he is dead. Oh, he is so dead."

Dean opened the front door to the Impala and maneuvered his way into the driver's seat. He let his head fall back against the headrest and let out a heavy sigh. God, he hoped this charade would end soon. The adrenaline from the failed break-in was finally fading. The hastened rhythm of his heartbeat was slowing back down. He heard the passenger's side door open, and felt the car move as another body sat down in it. Dean didn't move his head; he just opened his eyes and looked at Katz.

Katz put the small red cedar box on the floorboard of the Impala and then looked at Dean. "Ready to see, Sam?"

Dean didn't have to answer. He started the car and headed back towards North Salem. He looked out the windshield at the never-ending cascade of crystallized precipitation that was landing on the glass. As he stared at the snow he thought, "Don't worry, Sammy. I'm coming."


	10. Chapter 10

As promised here is another chapter. There is only two more left after this. Thank you to everyone that had taken the time to review the other chapter. After I finish this I can catch up on some serious reading. So, nope, I haven't forgotten about any of you, life has just been busy. Here we go! Love! Lo

Chapter Ten

"You haven't smoked in over an hour. I'm impressed," Dean said amusingly, as he drove through the snow littered highway.

"Warming up to me, Dean?" Katz replied with a smile.

"No, just keeping to that saying, you know the one that goes, keep your friends close, but your enemies closer, so you can kill the son-of-a-bitch later," Dean said, never taking his eyes off of the road. He gripped the steering wheel forcefully. The snow had slowed down his driving speed, and it was frustrating him immensely. He wanted to get to Sammy fast, but the damn snow kept falling, adding onto the already three inches it had placed earlier.

Katz laughed, honestly amused by Dean's statement, and replied, "Didn't think it was appropriate to smoke in your car; that is all."

"Hey, there is a no smoking rule in my baby, but if it kills you faster, then go for it," Dean chuckled at the thought of the man dying a slow and painful death, but he was sure that cancer wouldn't be fates way of offing the man, no; he was reserving Katz's death for himself.

Sam woke up with a haze-glassed look. The fever that rampaged through his body was clouding his thoughts, like there were tiny tendrils interweaving through the coherent section of his brain, gripping them tightly, never releasing. His body shook with chills. Beads of sweat fell from his forehead, dangling in the air, suspended, and then splashing onto the altar, hitting the stone with such speed, that the noise blasted throughout Sam's eardrums. He tried to block out the constant dripping, but with no avail. The inside of his body was on fire, but his skin felt so cold. He could hear the blood pumping through his veins, trying to fight off the sickness that dwelled deep within.

Sam looked up at the ceiling. The music had stopped hours ago, now it was silent. No one was down here with him, he knew. They always left him alone. His muddled mind tried to relive the conversation he had with Katz hours before, but couldn't clearly pull the images into his mind. His mind was that far gone. He couldn't even think. He concentrated on the conversation, shifting thoughts around, trying to find the right one. He remembered the man talking, but what did he say? Then it hit him, as if the tendrils in his mind eased their grip, allowing his mind to access fragments of the discussion. Katz told him… "If you want Dean to live, you will do it." Sam remembered asking the man what, but he replied with an elusive statement. All he said was, you'll know.

Sam heard the door upstairs open and shut. Someone was approaching the basement door. The dark room that Sam was being held in flooded with a sudden stream of bright white light. He could hear footsteps, two sets of them, coming down the creaky wooden panels. His heart rate increased in the suspense of not knowing who was coming. Sam thought that it was the tight stringed coils still wrapped around his brain, but he could have sworn he heard Dean. He closed his eyes, trying to rid his thoughts of such madness. Dean wouldn't be here, he had no idea where he was, and there were two people coming down here.

Sam felt a hand on his chest, the hand embedding a cold chill into his fever-racked body when it pressed harder onto his skin. Then he heard it again, or; at least thought he heard it, Dean calling his name. Sam opened his eyes, but his vision was blurred. He blinked several times, trying to free his eyes of the white fog that was blocking his vision. A few more blinks later things were starting to focus for the young hunter. Sam nearly fainted when his vision captured the smiling face of his brother standing over him. Sam felt like he would never see him again, and now he was standing above him. Tears swelled up the corner of his eyes, each drop filled with the hope that he had been holding onto this whole time.

"God, Sammy, what did they do to you?" Dean said, as he examined his brother's cut ridden body.

Sam smiled, a lopsided goofy smile, and chuckled. Dean stared at his brother's smile. God, he had waited to see that smile for so long. No emotion could ever be defined for the one that rolled through Dean's body right now. No dictionary could ever publish a word for Dean's feeling right now. The wonderful feeling of relief fluttered through his body relentlessly. Dean just needed to figure a way to get Sam out of here.

Dean smiled back at Sam. "God, it is so good to see you smile, Sam." Dean lifted his hand up and moved it up towards his brother's sweat covered face. He brushed the bangs from Sam's eyes, heat radiating off Sam's forehead and stinging Dean's hands, as he moved the locks of hair. Dean worriedly stared at Sam. "You have a fever."

"Yeah," Sam weakly said. He hadn't had any water in over a day, and his fever-parched lips longed for the sweet drops of the substance. He turned away from Dean, not wanting to look at his brother's worried gaze any longer.

Dean leaned in closer towards Sam's face, his lips inches from his brother's ear. He paused. He could hear Sam struggling to intake each breath of air. Dean turned his head to the side, staring at the beads of perspiration dripping from the sides of Sam's face, locks of hair clinging to the side of his face; the glistening wet strands of hair a shade darker then his brother's natural hair color. Dean slid his hand across the coarse stone of the altar, and lightly brushed Sam's shackled hand. He pulled Sam's hand into his and tightly interwove their fingers together, squeezing firmly, trying to let Sam know he was here for him. Dean wanted to tell Sam how much he had missed him, how much he had worried, that he had never given up hope, but it was as if someone was closing his vocal cords shut, their grip around them never-ending. Each cord compressed to their limit that even if a word was uttered it would have been nonsense, incoherent drivel. He was never good at showing emotion, and now when his brother needed him, he was speechless.

What bothered Dean the most was Sam's vacant stare, like he was looking at something unseen by anyone else, only his hazel eyes could capture its invisible essence.

"Sam, man, I'm gonna get you out of here. I promise, just hang on for me, okay? Trust me," Dean whispered softly into Sam's ear, his lips warmed by a combination of his hot breaths bouncing off of Sam's neck, and the burning wave of heat emanating from his brother's skin. Dean honestly didn't know what to say. His joy was turning, evaporating quickly into rage the more he analyzed his brother's current condition. He had wanted more then anything to have seen Sammy, but now; now it was different. His brother wasn't fine. There was a large symbol carved into his abdomen, he had a fever, and he was staring at nothing, not even registering Dean's complete presence. His nostrils flared with fury, as he turned his attention back towards Katz. His green eyes sparked with a passion that could only be deciphered as hate. Katz had several occult members surrounding him. Dean had never noticed their quiet entrance. He kicked himself mentally for letting his hunter's sense slip for a moment. He had been too preoccupied with Sam that he wasn't listening to his surroundings.

"Let's begin, shall we?" Katz said, with an iniquitous sneer on his face.

Two of the men seized Dean, and roughly grabbed the back of his arms. Dean didn't fight them; he let them handcuff him willingly. Katz thought that was odd, Dean has so much spunk, and fight, he wouldn't accept capture willingly. Katz's lips curled into a thin smile, the realization of why Dean wasn't resisting him becoming clear. He walked over slowly towards the now handcuffed Dean, and reached behind the hunters back, pulling a gun out of Dean's waistband.

He waved the gun in front of Dean mockingly. "Think I would forget this? Nope. You sly devil you, Dean." Katz handed the gun to another member of the cult, and watched as the other two men forced Dean over to the side of the altar, in perfect view of Sam. Katz wanted Dean to watch this. He wanted to watch as his brother summoned forth their master. It will be a beautiful site.

Dean struggled with the men. Sam was just lying there, looking worse with every moment that passed. Dean watched as Katz pulled the amulet out of the box, and approached Sam. He dangled the amulet in front of Sam's face, letting the silver metal swing back and forth a few times before stopping it. He leaned down and placed the chain around Sam's neck, and then moved the amulet towards the center of Sam's chest.

Katz walked over to one of the members that were holding a black cloth in their outstretched hands. Katz lifted the cloth up, revealing a small dagger. He grabbed the dagger and headed back over towards Sam. Fear rushed through Dean, as the knife wielding maniac approached his baby brother.

"If you hurt my brother anymore then you have, I can guarantee I will not only kill you, but revive you and kill you again," Dean warned, but Katz ignored him and continued to walk towards Sam.

He hovered over the young hunter, and stared at the fevered face of the boy. His mind was weak from fever; maybe they wouldn't need Dean to complete the ritual. Katz turned and looked at the older hunter with a grin. No, they would keep him in just in case. Leverage is a sweet advantage to have. Katz grabbed Sam's right hand and opened it up. Katz dragged the dagger slowly over Sam's palm. Then he looked over his shoulder at one of his men, and nodded. The man opened up a small back book that he was holding, and started to recite something in Latin.

Katz looked at Sam's face one more time before he pierced his skin. Sam let out a strangled cry as the blade cut across the tender flesh of the palm. Dean stood there and was forced to watch as the man continued to cut his baby brother. His heart pounded madly as he watched Sam squirm, trying to move his hand away from the bastard.

"Stop it!" Dean yelled. He bit his bottom lip in frustration and tried to get away from the two lackeys that were holding him. Dean stopped struggling when he remembered something. God, he mentally cursed himself. How could he have forgotten? Dean kicked the side of one of the man's legs, causing him to fall slightly. Dean took that opportunity to reach into his back pocket and pull out a small black box. The man regained his composure and took hold of Dean's arm again; never taking notice to the small box Dean was holding in his hand. Dean turned his attention back on his brother. Sam looked worse then he had seconds ago. Dean could tell he was suffering. Sam's breathing was labored, it wasn't controlled at all, and it was worsening the longer his brother had to endure the torture. The poor kid looked like he would hyperventilate at any moment.

Katz finished carving the symbols on both of Sam's hands, and then walked over towards the middle of the altar. He placed the bloody dagger on top of one of Sam's blood caked gashes. Then he moved the dagger and rested the tip of the blade in the center of the scored symbol that he had engraved onto Sam's stomach yesterday. Katz looked over and motioned for another member of the cult to come over. The man walked over and handed Katz a small brown pouch.

"This part might sting a little, Sam," Katz mockingly warned, as he opened the pouch up, and dumped the contents onto Sam's stomach, around the tip of the blade.

Sam's heart started beating vigorously, each thud painfully pounding in his skull, as it echoed throughout his sore body. He lifted up his head weakly, trying to see what the man was doing to him. Katz rubbed the red liquid that he had poured onto Sam's abdomen, in a circle like motion. Without warning he thrust the blade in half way, ensuring he wouldn't hit any vital organs, but deep enough to inflict pain. Sam gritted his teeth together, and a muffled scream sounded through the air when the knife was embedded into his abdomen.

Dean watched in terror. "God, stop it, you crazy son-of-a-bitch!"

Again, Katz ignored him, and continued with the task at hand – the ritual. He twirled the knife around creating a hole in the center of Sam's abdomen. Sam bit his bottom lip, grunting at the fiery pain that was exploding in the center of his body. Something foreign was entering his body. Whatever liquid that Katz had poured onto his body was now flowing inside of him.

Through his ragged breaths, Sam spoke, "What... is... that?"

"Blood," Katz replied curtly. "Our masters."

Sam was disgusted; he had some kind demon blood inside of him. Sam forced the contents of his stomach back down his throat. The warm sensation of the demon's blood coursed through his body, attacking every organ unmercifully. Sam could feel it, moving; the liquid stirring around on the inside of his body. Then he felt it pause, the warm liquid wrapping around his veins, covering the string like organs completely. As if the liquid had sharp teeth they bit into his veins, piercing the tender blood filled tubes, and making their way into his bloodstream. Sam was panting heavily, as the warm sensation never let up, relentlessly attacking cruelly. The pain was starting to wear down the young hunter, and the fever that was still plaguing his senses taxed the last reserves of his strength.

Dean tried to block out his brother's cries, and small whimpers of pain. He had to concentrate if this was going to work. Sammy would thank him when it was all over. Dean continued to move his hands around busily behind his back, the two goons not suspecting his motives at all.

"The first part is done. Now, onto the part we talked about Sammy," Katz said, purposely using Sam's nickname to aggravate Dean. It was working, because Dean hadn't said anything, he just glared at him.

"I don't know what you want me to do," Sam whispered, the pain was making it so hard to do anything more than breathe right now.

"I am going to recite the incantation, but the small catch is you have to be the one that releases him. It is your body, your soul, your energy that is bringing him forth. You must say the final word," Katz said, as he inched closer towards Dean.

Sam saw the man moving towards his brother, knowing that they were going to most likely use Dean to try to persuade his decision. That is why Dean was still alive. Why they hadn't killed him, they needed him. Sam screamed internally. Could this get any worse?

Katz gave the dagger to another member of the cult, as the man handed him a new one, one that wasn't covered in his brother's blood. Katz threateningly put the dagger up against Dean's throat, the cold metal tip nicking his skin lightly. He averted his attention back towards Sam. Dean frantically continued to work behind his back; he just needed a bit longer. One thing that Katz had forgotten was the lock pick Dean had placed in his back pocket. He was so close to getting the box open. Dean felt the small box click and he hurriedly closed his hands, making sure that the silver pick didn't fall out of the box. He slid the small silver pick into his fingers. Now he just needed them to make some kind of noise so he could drop the box and get to work.

Katz studied Sam, as he pulled out his box of cigarettes, lighting one as he started to speak. "All you need to say, Sam," Katz paused and inhaled the nicotine stick and then blew out a puff of smoke before continuing, "is the Latin word for release. You know what that is right?"

Katz removed the blade from Dean's throat and walked back over to Sam. "You do know what it is right?"

Sam nodded, and glared at the man in anger. He hated when someone used Dean against him. The choice was always obvious; he would die for his brother. "Yes, exi—"

Katz placed his hand over Sam's mouth. "No, no, not yet. Don't say it, yet. But that is correct."

Katz returned his attention towards Dean. "Maybe this is your lucky day. I think your brother is going to say it willingly after all." Katz patted Dean's cheek in a sarcastic manner, and smiled.

Dean swallowed hard, and looked up at Sam. "Sammy," Dean yelled. "Don't do it, man. I'll figure a way out of here, just bare with me. Okay, Sammy?"

Sam listened to his brother's words attentively. Something wasn't right. Sure Dean called him Sammy a lot, but not like that. Sam looked up and locked eyes with his brother's confident ones. Sam let his head rest back against the cold stone, and laughed a crazed laugh. Dean had a way out of here. He would just have to wait for big bro to come to the rescue.

"I hear you, Dean. If that is what you want, then it is your funeral," Sam said, still smiling as he spoke. Dean would know what Sam meant. Dean would know that Sam knew what he was trying to hint to him.

"This is an interesting twist," Katz said, still puffing on the cigarette. He cocked his head to the side, and looked at Dean bewilderedly. "Okay, if pain is what you want."

Katz lifted up the dagger and plunged it into Dean's stomach lightly, only the tip of the blade disappearing into his skin. Dean let out a painful grunt as he tightened his stomach muscles. God, he had to hurry. He was almost done. He could feel the layers of metal the lock pick was going through; just a bit more and he would be free.

"You hear that, Sam," Katz yelled at the hunter lying on the table.

Katz turned his head back towards Dean, and glared at him. "I am going to make you suffer, and your brother will say what I want him to."

Dean grinned, as he tried to mask the pain that coursed through his body. He said, in a rasped voice, "Bite me."

Katz shook his head in anger and pushed the knife in further. Dean let out a stifled groan. Katz stopped and turned his head back over towards Sam. "See this, your brother will die and it will be your fault. Say it! Take the easy way out, save your brother!" Katz screamed. He then looked at Dean and smiled vindictively, as he started reciting something in Latin.

Katz pushed the knife into Dean's stomach, with every Latin word that escaped through his lips, the blade advanced through the hunter's abdomen excruciatingly. Dean closed his eyes, the pain was becoming unbearable. He really needed to hurry. His sweaty hands fiddled with the lock pick, trying frantically to find the center of the lock and snap it open.

Katz stopped reciting the incantation and looked back at Sam. "If you say it I will end his pain."

Dean knew that his struggled noises of pain were most likely wearing on his brother's mind. He needed Sammy to hold on for just another moment. "Don't listen to him, Sam."

"Listen to me, Sam. Say it!" Katz bellowed, and then continued in Latin. Katz leaned in and whispered gently into Dean's ear, "You know, no matter what, he will die. Even if he says it, his soul belongs to our master."

Dean's eyes widened in fear; the urgency to shred the metal bindings his wrist becoming an even more pressing task. Dean felt the pick connect with the part that was latched down. His heart was beating nervously, the thought of his brother dying weighing heavily on his already flustered mind. He just needed one more minute and he would be free. Katz pushed the knife in a little bit further, and Dean tried to pull away from the pain. God, it hurt so bad, he could barely concentrate. He could feel the blood sliding down his stomach now. He really needed to hurry if they both were going to make it out of here alive.

Sam didn't know what to do. His fevered mind was so foggy that he was starting to doubt his initial thoughts. What if Dean didn't have a way out and he was just saying that so Sam didn't do it? What if Dean was trying to protect him? Sam let out a frustrated cry, as the room started to swiftly spin around. He didn't know what to do.

Katz finished the incantation. Now, all that was left was getting Sam to say the final word. His eyes now focused solely on the young hunter. He continued with his verbal onslaught. "Say it!"

"Don't say it, Sam!" Dean yelled back, knowing that if Sam gave in it would cost him his life.

"Do it!" Katz lamented again.

"Sam, don't," Dean shouted, trying to focus his mind on two tasks, getting the lock off, and saving Sam.

"Do it now or he dies!"

"Please, Sammy, just a bit longer," Dean pleaded.

"Stop it!" Sam yelled back, his breathing even more strained then it was minutes ago. "I can't think!"

"Then do it, Sam. End Dean's pain, and yours," Katz pressed further. He knew he was close. Sam was breaking.

"Sammy, c'mon, man. Hang on!" Dean tried to reason with his brother.

Sam's thoughts rushed in and out of his brain so fast. He could hear Dean yelling at him, pain filled in his brother's every word. Then it dawned on him, as if he had forgotten it just moments ago, and then suddenly remembered. Dean was in pain! Dean needed him. But Dean said to wait. Katz said to say it. Sam cried out, he didn't know what to do. It all was coming at him so fast, and his mind couldn't take it anymore.

Katz continued on with his attack. "Sam! Say it!"

Dean felt the lock twisting inside of the cuffs. He looked up at Sam. His brother looked worse. Sweat was no longer falling in beads, but streams down his fevered-flush face. Dean could see the struggle in Sam's eyes. If Dean didn't hurry his brother was going to snap. Sammy just had to wait a few more seconds. "Sam, don't!"

"Do it!"

"Don't!"

"Do it!"

"Don't, Sammy!"

"Do it!" Katz screamed loudly, and he pressed the blade into Dean's stomach harder then he had before. Dean let out a wail of pain as the knife sliced through his skin.

Sam heard his brother scream. Dean was in pain that was the only thought running through his mind now. Dean needed him. Dean… Dean would die. Sam's frantic mind tried to piece together what was right. Sam heard Dean cry out again.

Dean hissed as Katz twirled the knife, once again yelling at Sam, "Do it or my next push will be fatal!"

Dean rejoiced as the cuffs clicked and then fell off of his wrists. He did it!

"Do it, Sam! Save your brother!" Katz screamed, oblivious to Dean's newfound freedom.

Sam started breathing rapidly, each breath a short rasp, he was near hyperventilation.

Dean moved backwards, growling at the sudden shock of pain that rushed over his body when he slid the knife out of his stomach.

Sam heard his brother scream again. The short gasps of air worsening every time he heard Dean cry out in pain.

Katz noticed that Dean was free. He had to act now. "Dean is dying, Sam! Do it!"

Sam couldn't think, all he could hear was Dean and dying. Dying? Dean was dying. Sam gasped for air, and the labored breathing continued, his heart beating faster and faster, not stopping, everything moving so fast.

Sam could barely breathe; when he screamed out loudly, "Eximo!"


	11. Chapter 11

I have been doing a graphics contest, sorry. My little bird Alisa, reminds me about posting, thanks love. And because I checked my email today (Which I rarely do) and saw I got a review from michelle kelly asking to post for her, I will. So, love, this one is for you. Now, again, THANK YOU to all of my reviewers. After I finish posting this I should have time to go and personally thank you all. Thanks so much. One more chapter left. I shall post it later today, or early tomorrow - promise. Loves! Lo.

Chapter Eleven

Everything in the room stopped. An eerie silence spread throughout the space; no matter what comforting presence was offered up to destroy its looming company it couldn't be vanquished. The impassive energy encompassed the atmosphere densely, filling the air with a quiet quake of impending premonition.

Dean numbly wobbled towards the altar, not even a faint whisper or breath passed his frail lips. As he walked, no one uttered a sound. The sea of clichéd black cloak wearing occultists moved aside. As the mounds of black clothed followers parted, Dean could see Katz standing at the base of the altar. His lengthy framed body denying Dean the necessary access to his brother's still form. Dean watched in awe as the Asian man moved aside, never protesting as he let Dean walk up to Sam.

Dean unknowingly put a hand to his mouth, as his thoughts slipped in and out of his mind, interweaving through his brain brutally, mocking him with the cruel reality that his brother was going to die. Dean shook his head, no; he would not give up hope, he would find a way to save his brother. Dean stared at Sam with cautious eyes. Sam's hazel hued eyes locked tightly with Dean's, astonishment interconnecting within Sam's irises; realization that his brother was alive disentangled the feeling of grief, but quickly replaced it with regret.

"Dean?" Sam whispered bewilderedly.

Dean stood there staring, petrified; his eyes still fixated on his brother's confused ones. He noticed his hand was covering his mouth, and hastily placed it back in its proper place, next to his side. The pressure in his throat released, as he reverently spoke, "God, Sammy. What did you do?"

Sam didn't know what to say. He stared blankly into his brother's worrisome eyes. "I don't know… You were… and… God, Dean. What _did_ I do?"

Dean tried to rid his body of the immobilizing numbness, and shock that was still smothering his mind. A few minutes had passed and the room was still completely muted. Dean ignored the silent bodies of the occult and turned around, intent on getting the lock pick and freeing his brother. Before Dean had even taken a step, Katz raised an arm and placed his hand on Dean's chest. Dean was about to retaliate when Katz dangled a silver item in front of Dean's view – A skinny silver key.

Dean was going to ask the man why, but decided against it. Maybe Katz had seen there was no point to this ritual, as it obviously hadn't worked. It had been almost ten minutes since Sam had screamed the final word of the incantation, and nothing had happened. Dean took the keys and unlocked his brother's hands and then moved down towards the end of the altar, and freed his legs as well. He helped Sam sit up and his brother immediately started coughing. Dean shed Sam's torso of the torn sweatshirt and undershirt, replacing them with Dean's jacket.

Dean didn't question Katz's altruistic behavior; he simply accepted it, blinded by his own selfish delusions. Dean would trust his conviction, his belief that everything was okay. Nothing had happened to Sam, and nothing would; and he would ensure that it would stay that way. Dean grabbed hold of Sam's bicep and helped Sam off the altar. No one stopped them as they walked towards the wooden steps.

"Dean, where… are we… going?" Sam wheezed, his breathing was stable, but it wasn't fully unlabored.

"Hospital," Dean said curtly, as he pulled one of Sam's arms over his shoulder, forcing most of Sam's body weight to be supported by him.

Each creak in the wooden steps echoed throughout the room. Every aged-worn sound that rippled throughout the stairwell meant they were one-step closer towards freedom. Dean continued to carry Sam up the stairs, noticing that his brother was straining, and silently wincing as they ascended the noisy wooden planks.

Dean, exhausted, rounded the corner once they had reached the top of the stairs. A giant metal lock blocked off the back door, in which they had originally entered. Dean didn't' have the time to either, a: Break it down, or b: Well, break it down. So he opted for the latter decision, which was, make their way towards the front door.

Dean made it into the center of the vacant nightclub. He paused briefly to check on Sam's condition. He looked over at his brother, and closed his eyes for a moment. He reopened them and sighed. "Sammy, we gotta keep going. We're almost to the door."

"Dean—"

"I know it sounds far, but you gotta keep truckin, man. We are almost there."

"Dean—d"

"I know, Sam. But once I have us out of here you can rest."

"Dean—"

"Sammy, c'mon," Dean said as he smiled at his brother. "We're almost there. I'll let the Docs' fix you up, then come back and kill that son-of-a-bitch."

Dean tightened his grip on his brother and lifted his foot to start their seeming less, never-ending journey towards the glass door.

"Dean! Stop it!" Sam snapped.

Sam mustered up all the strength he had and smacked Dean's hand away, stumbling slightly as he backed up a few steps. His eyes piercing his brother's as he stared at him contemptuously. All the pain, all of the suffering was rolled into that one stare. The hurt, the anguish, even the finality of the situation, all fused together into one emotion.

"Dean," Sam spoke lightly. "You are fooling yourself. There is no escape."

"Sammy—"

"No, Dean, let me finish. This is the end. Why are you clinging onto the hope that there is something else? There isn't. Fate twisted those rough wheels, man. And I got the unlucky draw."

"Sam, geez, man, c'mon. Nothing has happened to you, and nothing will. We just need to get out of here and get you to a hosp—"

"Stop it," Sam pleaded. His eyes transformed, no longer holding the supercilious stare they once did. Now they burned with an ethereal like repentance, his previous actions weighing heavily on his mind. There was no undoing what had been done, and Sam realized that. He just needed to convince his brother to let go of his hindering credence.

"Sam," Dean's voice was confident, almost bold, as he spoke. "Man, you are being crazy. It has been well over twenty minutes, and look, you are still here."

"Dean, look behind you. Katz and his men are up here, all around us. Why else would they be here if it hadn't worked? Think about it. You know it, but you're just too afraid to admit it. There is no way out this time. We are – I'm screwed. Simple as that," Sam said, there was a dominating finality that laced his tone.

"It is not simple as that, Sam," Dean scoffed, his arms flailing wildly in the air, defending his mind's perception on the situation with a melodramatic swing.

"Dean," Sam said quietly, the fever causing his breath to hitch briefly, before he regained his composure. "Look behind you."

Dean didn't want to. He knew Sam was most likely right. Dean turned around slowly, his legs shifting unsteadily as he swiveled around. Dean gazed at the Asian man, and the other occultists surrounding him and his brother. The opaque veil that had covered his mind, the one that had rendered him visionless, was slipping. A bright light of clarity flooded through Dean's mind, bringing with its incandescent shimmer, the startling comprehension of Katz's genuine intentions. The man had allowed Dean to take Sam out of sheer benevolence. There was only one thing that would make someone as wicked as Katz do something that charitable… death. Dean's heart skipped a beat, dread rushed through the blood-filled veins in his body. He swiftly turned around and stared forlornly at his brother. As the veil completely fell, Dean's body shook with tremors, the full knowledge of the situation racked his body ferociously. The lamenting billow in his mind swept through the rest of his senses, ensuring that all were numb, and the mortification of Dean's soul, who he was, had unsympathetically sealed.

"Sam…" Dean trailed off. His words caught in that breathless squeeze again. Now he knew, but he couldn't just sit there. That wasn't what Dean Winchester did. He was a fighter, a rebel, someone who stood up for what they believed in.

"Dean, why don't you go?" Sam offered nobly.

"I am not leaving you here. We can stop this. It hasn't happened!" Dean's voice rose, his frustration pulled to its limit.

"But it's going to, Dean" Sam said, his voice still calm. "I can feel it… inside of me." Sam paused and closed his eyes, the revolting fact that someone else's blood, and not human at that, was flowing through his veins disgusted him. He shook off the stomach curdling thoughts and opened his eyes. Staring at Dean he spoke with assurance, "Dean, this is going to happen. And you can't stop it."

Dean would not accept it. He whirled around and paced towards Katz. The man never backed down, he waited as Dean approached. Dean grabbed the man by the collar and twisted his hands around the black fabric. His upper lip twitched with fury, his eyes glared with rage. He voice shook with fierce acrimony as he spoke, "Stop it! Stop the ritual!"

Katz's face didn't hold any emotion. He gazed at Dean, and then averted his attention towards Sam. "I can't."

The words flew into his Dean's ears like the rubbish they were. They were the extra pressure needed to snap the strings holding Dean's self-control in place. Dean shoved Katz backwards, punched him and then pushed him again, but into the bar that was directly behind him. Glass and debris flew threw the air, crashing and shattering whenever they hit the ground.

Sam watched his brother from a distance. He wished it could have been some other way. The regret he had felt when he had first seen his brother was still alive, its lingering presence still nipping at his mind. Every person that had been through this ritual, that Katz had said, had died. No one lived through the process of bringing the demon forth. Sam chuckled internally at the sheer morbidity of his thoughts. Maybe he would have enough stamina to bring forth the demon. Maybe he would live. No one else had ever succeeded, but no one else was a Winchester. Maybe Sam would summon the demon and live.

Dean punched Katz again. The man's face was smeared with blood. Dean lifted up his bloody fist and connected with the man's face again.

Sam felt a brief shot of pain shoot through his body.

Katz stumbled and then quickly gained his footing. Dean hit the man again.

Another agonizing shot jolted through the young hunter, and he fell onto his knees, griping his chest.

Katz noticed Sam's decline and sneered. Dean, who was about to punch the man again, noticed the shift in the Asian man's demeanor. He looked over his shoulder and saw Sam. He let go of Katz's shirt and ran. He had to make it back; he had to stop this from happening.

Sam felt the excruciating sensation trickle down towards his hands. Still kneeling, he lifted up his hands to examine them. Palms out, he stared at them in shock. The thin lines of the gash formed symbols on his hands were now gushing out blood. Little beads streamed down the sides of his hands. The crimson droplets paused at the rim of his hand, dangling there. Sam looked up and smiled when he saw Dean running towards him. He smiled a simpered smile; one that Dean would recognize the concealed significance behind.

And he had. Dean stopped.

One drop fell. The blood-filled orb spun around the air, light reflecting on its boundless simplicity, gravity ensuring that its purpose was fulfilled – Then it hit the ground. Tiny little red beads detached themselves from their source, falling onto the ground with the same force their creator had moments before.

Dean motionlessly breathed the word, "Sammy…"

Light burst from the droplets of blood. Blue and white streamed through the floorboards, forming a symbol around Sam. Sam kneeled in fright as the symbol around his body rose. Light tore through the ceiling, encircling the younger hunter inside. A cylindrical barrier shielded anyone from reaching the center.

Dean, who was shielding his eyes from the blinding brightness of the beam, uncovered his eyes when the familiar sound of wood hitting the floor echoed throughout the nightclub. He couldn't move; he stared at the symbol in shock. The beams from the outer circle outstretched through the ceiling, tearing a hole in the nightclubs upper foundation.

Dean snapped himself out of his tranquil-like daze and focused on his brother. Inside of the beam of light was Sam, still kneeling. Dean approached with caution, staring disjointedly at the circle of light.

Dean stood inches from the captivating luminous creation. The colors inside of the beam were mesmerizing. Blues and pinks flickered in a never-ending battle for dominance. Dean lightly ran his hand around the outside of the shaft of light. Molecules formed, and a white mist danced listlessly around. Dean ran his fingers through the white wisp of fog, it held no feeling, neither cold, or hot, it was unnatural. He guardedly placed his hand on the beam; it held the same unnatural feeling.

Sam stood up unevenly. Dean could see the snowflakes from the open hole in the ceiling swirling around his brother. A melancholic wave passed through Dean's body, as morbid as the situation, his brother held an angelic presence. The flurries that fluttered around the air vanished before fully hitting the ground, but the light specs of white that danced around beforehand were heavenly. Sam walked over towards his brother. Their eyes locking for a moment, not a word uttered between them. Dean knew, and so did Sam. Sam lifted up his hand and matched his brothers; together they stood palm to palm, never touching. The room dissipated, the light beam disappeared. In their reality, it was only the two of them, still standing palm to palm. Silent tears streamed down both of their faces, each streak filled with the despairing tragedy. That one moment all was forgotten, death no longer pressing its unwanted presence, it was just Sam and Dean.

"Dean," Sam spoke quietly, the room and the light returning as it forced them back into the cruel truth they were facing. "I know you don't usually like to go all chick-flicky, but this needs to be said. He's coming and I..." Sam fell down onto his knees, gripping his chest tightly, panting heavily.

Worrisome eyes fell upon him. Dean stared in horror. His words caught tightly in a brutal grip. He couldn't say goodbye, it wasn't supposed to end like this. He had to fix this… He always did.

"Dean," Sam forced out, his breathing labored as he spoke in between each strained breath. "Take care, man. This was never… your fault. Like you said, some people draw the short straw, and I did."

"Sam, don't you dare say goodbye. Force the demon through; just hang on long enough to do that. Once it is through, I can kill its sorry ass, but do it. I need you to hang on just long enough to do that." Dean pleaded, his hand still pressed up against the light barrier that separated him from his brother.

Sam slid down the iridescent circle, the pain amounting, building, before it became too unbearable. And then fate twisted the rustic spokes of Sam's destiny. Each push was agonizing, each creak sounding the inevitability of its turn. His knees hit the ground, his body splashed with the blue glow of the gleaming symbol.

"Sammy!" Dean screamed, watching as his brother struggled to take each life sustaining breath.

A shimmering white wisp of energy started to seep out of Sam's skin. He looked at his arm in disbelief. The white vapor-like cloud twirled around in the air, illuminated by the blue tint of the symbol. His mind was muddled with the incomprehensible thought of what this substance was. The cloud started pouring out more heavily, encircling the young hunter in its inescapable grasp. His breathing became shallow; his body cold, it was then Sam realized with a sudden urgency what the substance was. He panicked and looked into his brother's eyes fearfully.

Dean was confused, utterly bewildered at the white glow that was moving about his brother's fallen form. When Sam looked at Dean, only one thought passed through the older sibling's mind – No!

"Dean," Sam struggled to voice. The notion was so crazy, but it made sense, he knew now that he was going to bring the demon forth, but that meant death as well. There was no escaping fates clutches this time, no way out. Sam paused, inhaled deeply and then continued. "It's my soul."

The statement was ludicrous. Dean's mind fumbled to coherently process the words. His soul? Then it hit him. Katz's words played over and over in his mind, like some sick joke. "You know, no matter what, he will die. Even if he says it, his soul belongs to our master." Dean's mind screamed, the words still ricocheting in his mind as he ran onto the other side of the glowing symbol. He grabbed one of the D.J's record players and smashed it into the side of the barrier. He wanted so desperately to get his brother out.

It hadn't worked. The record player into pieces once it hit the side of the glowing circle, sparks flew threw the air dramatically. Dean grabbed another piece of equipment and bashed it into the side of the symbol. His body wept with failure. He ran back around to look at Sam. His brother's form had an outpour of the white aura, flowing lethargically into the amulet that was still dangling around his brother's neck. Dean punched the side of the barrier, his knuckles stung from the sheer force he had extinguished into the blow.

Sam looked up at Dean, knowing it would be his last. He felt so tired. His body shook with the knowledge that this was it; this was how he was going to die. He tried to look past the white cloud that hindered his sight. He needed to see Dean one last time. He could see his brother, kneeling by the side of the circle, hands pressed firmly on the side, his head lying despondently on the blue barrier, looking at Sam hopelessly. Sam gathered what strength he had and crawled over towards Dean, leaning his shoulder on the glowing wall.

"Dean, man," Sam said, breaking the grief-ridden silence. "Always know that no matter what… I love you."

"Don't give up, Sam," Dean whispered, knowing it was futile.

"I can't hold on," Sam said, his eyes grew heavy; it was a burden to keep them open any longer.

Sam felt the last push of fate. The wheel turned, and then it stopped. The world darkened around him, swirling through his mind. His breath hitched, struggling for one more moment with his brother. Complete silence filled the young hunters mind. Nothing was there, just a vast plain of nothingness. He knew. He was dead.

Dean watched as his brother struggled to breathe. Dean's euphoria of delusion cracked. Sam stopped breathing and the barrier flickered, almost like a hologram. The bright light shorted out and Sam's lifeless body fell forwards. Dean caught his brother before he hit the ground.

Dean didn't know what to do. His hold world, his life… was gone. He shakily put a finger on his brother's neck, clinging to the hope that maybe Sam was alive. His finger pressed firmly on Sam's neck, but not so much as a faint pulse graced them with their presence.

Dean stared at Sam's body. He hadn't noticed he was crying, not until tiny splashes of water wetted his hand, bouncing off his brother's face. Dean brushed Sam's hair to the side. He opened his mouth; he wanted to tell Sam how he felt, but someone interrupted him.

"Master," Katz said elatedly. "You're finally here."


	12. Chapter 12

THANK YOU EVERYONE! This was a good ride! I am updating for you guys, and it is on time! Yay! I think. THIS IS VERY IMPORTANT PLEASE READ BEFORE READING: This chapter is written in Dean's POV. I know it is against the writing rules, but I figured, hey, it is fanfiction, not a novel. So, it is his POV, remember that. This is the last chapter and I wanted to thank you all so very much for it. Alisa, thank you for reminding me to update it. I am horrible with this stuff. This chapter isn't the best and honestly, I am not too happy with it, but alas, it is the end. Enjoy! And again, thank you all. Lo

Chapter Twelve

I didn't know where I was. The darkness, the abyss that was surrounding me was impenetrable, I couldn't escape. They say that when you die, your whole life flashes before your eyes. But what if you just witnessed your brother's death? Is that the same? Standing here now, in the shadows, I can honestly say yes. Memory, beyond memory flooded through my mind.

Sammy was five, his first day of school. I remembered him being so scared, and timid. I held his hand firmly and squeezed it. He smiled at me; his lopsided goofy grin was present even at that young age. I remembered telling him that he would be okay because I was here. He believed me. Why? Why would I promise something I knew would be nearly impossible? Was I so vain, so full of my brotherly duties that I would make him a promise that ludicrous? Because in my mind I thought I could fulfill it.

But I didn't fulfill it. No, I let him die. Die… The word still didn't sound real. Nothing was real; this was a dream. I was dreaming. I had to be!

They also say a lot of people see their loved ones after they die. Why couldn't I see, Sam? Why was I alone? The black void around my mind was so cold that I was shivering. But was it from the cold, or from shock? I couldn't be sure. Maybe both.

Nothing seemed real anymore. My eyes wouldn't work, much less focus, all I could see was black. Something in my heart ached. My lips trembled. Again, was it the cold, or the realization that Sam was dead? What did it matter? Everything I loved was gone. Everything I had sworn to protect was no longer here.

I looked down at my hands; Sam was no longer there. Instead of my brother's still form in my grasp, was nothing. I outstretched my hands in the darkness. My hands were glowing with an ethereal like haze. The pale translucent skin was shining brightly, even in the blackness. As I stared, the color was turning, no longer the inhuman white, but a deep crimson. It started to cover my hands thickly.

Something in my head snapped. This wasn't my blood! No, this was Sam's! I was responsible for his early departure. The slick red that covered my hands was a constant reminder that…I had failed. I failed him, and myself. I had vowed to protect him, but didn't. He was gone.

The blood started to drip off of my hands, splashing into the oblivion. Drip, drip, drip, it echoed. The drops started to sound like my name. Dean it called. Dean. Dean. Why was the blood calling me? Had I finally lost it?

I could feel the tears in my eyes slide down my cheeks as I looked up. Sam was standing there, but he was far away. I stood up quickly, and started running towards him, stumbling a few times, my bloody arms outstretched to capture him.

"Sammy!" I yelled, elated.

"Dean," he whispered to me, his face was so serious, "go back."

"Back?" I asked him, my brow furrowed in confusion. Where would I go? "I'm not leaving you."

"You have to."

"No!" I screamed, outraged.

"Save me…please. Go back. Go back to me," Sam instructed me, his voice was calm. Why was he so relaxed?

He was fading. I didn't want to lose him, not yet. I just got him back. I growled in protest, but he didn't hear me. The light emanating from his body was blinding. I shielded my eyes against the brightness. The darkness surrounding me was being consumed. The black barrier in my mind was cracking, little slivers of white peaking through the shadows. A pallid light flooded through the void and jolted my senses.

There was something in my hands, warm to the touch. Hesitantly I looked down. My eyes widened in horror—Sam was not there! Instead, a set of small fingers was intertwined in my own. I followed the unfamiliar hands to their owner's face. Shock would be an understatement for the way my mind was processing the feeling. A tiny and innocent face was staring into my terror struck eyes—it was Tabby!

"Dean, you need to listen to me," she whispered delicately.

I snatched my hand back, holding it closely to my chest, as if her touch had burned the cold skin on my hands. My upper lip twitched into a snarl, and my eyes narrowed. "I have nothing to hear from _you_!"

"I know you're mad—"

"Mad? No, sweetheart, I'm furious. You…because of _you _Sam's dead. Because of you he was chosen, because of you…" My voice scared even me, and it was evident from the look on her face it was startling her, too. The venom that was held within my tone was frightening, but it was justified. "But most importantly…because I wasn't strong enough to save him from…you." My head fell down; I couldn't stare at her any longer. I could feel the tears starting to burn my eyes again, and it made me feel weak.

"Dean, you have to listen to me, please," her small voice whispered.

I looked up at her, eyes filled with hatred. In a low scruff voice, that nearly cracked when I spoke, I whispered, "No."

"This is very amusing, and quite honestly… old. Now that my master has awoken, it is time for you to join your brother."

I looked over. Katz! I had been so consumed by my own grief, I had forgotten about him. He was the cause of this pain in my body, as well. If it weren't for him…Sam would be alive. I needed to collect myself, reform my inner thoughts, and focus on one thing right now—revenge.

I stood up shakily and glared at the man. I bluntly accused him of his transaction. "You killed my brother."

"No, Dean, I didn't kill your brother." He smiled, and then walked over towards the bar. Picking up a white disc full of Sake, you may want to use saki so people know you mean alcohol he sipped. "Your brother was just a key, a… tool, if you may have it, towards bringing forth my master. Every person that was brought here and sacrificed…died. But, Sam, his aura, the dark energy in his body was enough to summon my master. So, as you can clearly see, I did not kill your brother."

"You bastard," I yelled, and without thinking I charged at him. My fists balled, and my mind cluttered, I aimed, but before I could hit him…I stopped. Sam was standing in front of me. I looked at my brother, puzzled. "Sam?"

"Save me," he whispered. "Dean, save me." Then he disappeared, faded without any warning.

Then it hit me, harder then a blow to the face, I had forgotten about Sam. Tabby had distracted me, and then Katz. I ran my hand through my spiked hair, and exhaled. I needed to find Sam. Where was his body?

"Where is my brother?" I demanded.

"Gone. The master took him. There is no hope for him, Dean. Why don't you just forget about him, and leave. We don't need you, and I have no quarrel with you. Go." Katz placed the cup down on the counter top and grinned at me humorously. "Well, unless you count this busted lip I have, but I am a forgiving man." He winked.

"Where is my brother?" I screamed. Katz walked casually out from behind the bar, but his gaze wasn't locked with mine, he was looking somewhere else, past me. I turned around and grinned maniacally, he was staring at Tabby, the bitch.

He walked past me and over towards her, ignoring me, as if my presence was nonexistent. "Tabitha, dear, were you aiding Dean?" He moved his index finger back and forth in a disapproving manner. "Tsk, tsk, my little angel. That is against the rules."

The small woman stood up quickly and backed away in fear. "But…you just said you were going to let him go. I didn't…" She backed up further, away from him.

He reached in behind his jacket and pulled out something—a gun. He pointed it at her. At this moment I had the opportunity stop him, stop him from killing her, but I didn't. I just stood there, and waited. I wanted him to pull that trigger. I wanted to see her blue eyes—they were an incandescent crystal blue—fade out, become nothing more then a dull flicker of azure. Her life, for Sam's. Fair, right? Wrong. After she died every one of these sons-of-bitches would die, too. That was justice.

Katz's finger rubbed the trigger for a moment, and then without warning, he pulled it back. A shot echoed out throughout the club, and then Tabby's body fell. Did I feel remorse for her death? No, I smiled instead. That bitch got what she deserved; I was just sorry I wasn't the one to deliver it.

Katz turned and stared at me again. This time I was sure that the next bullet that exited from that barrel was marked with my name. But the only thing that was going through my mind, as he lifted the gun and aimed it at me, was I would be with Sam. I closed my eyes and awaited my death. As morbid as it may have sounded at the time, I welcomed it, a release from the pain.

I waited there, but nothing happened. I slowly opened one of my eyes and then they both flew open when my mind processed what was happening, Katz was being lifted up off of the ground by his throat by the demon. The demon didn't look like your typical horned, black eyes, monster type. No, he looked almost human. He had long white hair, but the strange thing was the color of white was tinted with a light red, almost pink. He was smiling at me as he held the Asian man up, he had white pearly teeth, and red eyes, but his body was shaped like a man, all but his extremely long finger nails. His skin was pale, almost like translucent. He was wearing a red silk Chinese robe, the sleeves where lined with silver, accenting the red nicely. He wasn't ghastly like a demon should look; he was more human then anything.

"Did I tell you to kill Tabby, Katz?" the demon asked the man.

Katz tried to sake his head no, but his head wouldn't budge, it looked as if the demon's grasp was too tight. My forehead scrunched up as I caught a glimpse of something shiny around the demon's neck—it was the amulet! He was wearing it now, which could only mean he had seen Sam. I was trying to move behind him stealthily, so quietly maybe he wouldn't notice my sudden absence, but I stopped in horror at the site before me.

The demon's hand was inside of Katz's chest, imbedded so deeply I couldn't even see his fingers. I fought the bile that was rising as the blood started to pour freely from the wound. Then a slick noise erupted throughout the quiet room and Katz's body fell, but the demon held something red in his hands, still beating, it was Katz's heart. I almost lost my lunch there, but I fought to remain calm. The demon turned around and his red eyes pierced my hazel ones as he stared. He discarded the heart onto the ground, and walked towards me.

My eyes couldn't help but flicker back and forth from the demon, and then back to Katz's dead body. That man had caused me so much grief, now he was dead. Why wasn't I happy? The only thing on my mind was Sam, and where he could be. So, I thought I would do the only defiant thing, and probably stupidest thing someone could do in this situation—ask the big bad nasty.

"Where is my brother?" I asked the demon fearlessly, well; at least in my mind it was fearlessly.

"I can show you him, Dean." The demon grinned and then clapped his pale thin hands together.

I gasped as a set of suits brought out my brother. Silent tears threaten to fall as I noticed his chest was still unmoving—he was still dead. I had hoped by some miracle that maybe his death was an act, a show, but it wasn't. Sam was really dead. I rushed over towards my brother, each step I ran filled with the urgency of holding him. The men set Sam down on the floor, carefully. Thoughts, unwanted and wanted, filled my mind. The first thought was getting to Sam. The second was the situation, the oddity of it. Why would they be treating him with such caution, if in fact he were dead? Inside I chuckled, a scary laugh, because saying the word dead in association with my brother was becoming easier every time the word entered my mind.

Once by Sam's side, I reluctantly checked for a pulse, still hoping there would be a faint thud present. My head hung low when nothing moved, no pulse, no beat—nothing. I reached over and brushed the hair back on Sam's head. He looked so still, so quiet, so…dead. Anger filled my veins, and revenge was seeping through.

"He's dead, Dean," the demon said. He was standing only a few feet from me now.

"No, he can't…" I shook my head disbelief.

"His life was an exchange for my birth. Your brother's essence was strong enough to bring me forth. You should be happy. He lived his life fully, and it had purpose. Most mortals can't say that." He grinned as he looked at me. "Don't you agree, Dean?" His grin widened, only pissing me off more.

I stood up shakily, glaring at him the whole time, thinking in my head that this bastard had to die, and now was the time. "You, dude, are really starting to piss me off."

"Anger is not a good emotion, Dean. It would only lead to unnecessary vicious reciprocations."

I don't know what made my feet move, but they did. And as soon as I started running towards him, I couldn't stop. Things moved in a haze. Pain ignited in my side, but I couldn't look at it. It felt like I was floating, then suddenly I stopped, hitting something hard.

Leaning up against the side of the wall I noticed that my side was bleeding. My head ached, but I stood up again and charged. Inches from the demon now, things started to blur again. My cheek stung, my lip felt bruised, and my hands burned. Something was ripping through my arm, the flesh was on fire, and it wouldn't stop. Somewhere along the way of dying, it stopped. I looked up, and noticed the demon just standing there, his back turned to me.

No sound came from anyone, not even a whisper. It was then I noticed why the demon wasn't moving. Feet from him, was a bloodied Tabby, in her hand she held the amulet. Her other hand was cradling her injured side, while the other one held the necklace high in the air. She was screaming something, but I didn't understand what. I just wished that she would shut up and let the demon finally finish me off. I wanted to be with Sam, it was the only thing that made sense at the time.

Sound finally rushed into my ears and I heard her. "I may not have been able to save my brother, but I can save Sam."

"It is too late, Tabby." The demon sneered.

"No, you need his body to stay on the human plane, don't you? He is your connection…without him you are nothing!" she screamed, her body fumbling backwards from the blood loss, but she then quickly gained her footing.

"Cleaver girl. How on earth do you plan on getting rid of me? Sam's soul is already mine. He is mine!" the demon retaliated; his razor sharp nails brushing the sides of his robe.

"Like this," she whispered, but audible enough for me to hear. She took the amulet and threw onto the ground.

Everything else happened so fast. Light burst from the shattered stone in the symbol. Tabby screamed, and the demon screamed, both high pitched and filled with pain. A white mist swirled around the demon, entrapping him. I could hear Tabby's breathing become labored as she fell to her knees, clutching her chest. I got up unsteadily and crawled over towards Tabby. I hated her, but now my heart ached for her. She sacrificed everything to help me. The white light was still burning around us, like a flare that hadn't been extinguished yet.

I held the girl close in my arms. "What did you do?" I asked.

"Trying to set things right, Dean," she whispered, barely able to speak. She started coughing.

"I don't understand." I was confused. I stared into her eyes fixedly, the demons screams were still sounding in the background.

"Look at Sa…S…Sam." She managed to say through her blood filled mouth. I turned around and my eyes widened.

The white mist from the amulet was swirling around Sam. I continued to stare as the bright clouds entered his body. It seemed like hours had past, but it was only a few seconds. Then my heart jumped, electrified with something unknown as I watched. Sam's back arched, as he gasped for air. Little goose bumps tingled their way down my skin, my stomach flipped with joy; my tears no longer filled with sorrow.

I looked down at Tabby. She was already dead. I leaned down and whispered in her ear gently. "Thank you." And then I set her down.

The bright light behind me faded, and the demon was gone. I crawled the few feet it took to get to my brother. I lifted up Sam's head and placed it in my lap. I watched in amazement as his chest continued to move. Up and down it went, and with each movement my heartbeat quickened.

Sam shifted his head slightly, and then blinked a few times before fully opening his eyes. His hazel eyes stared at me in confusion. "Dean?"

I laughed, I honestly laughed. To hear him say my name again was like nothing I could describe. My heart skipped again as he said it again. "Dean?"

"Sam…" I didn't care how 'chick-flick' it was, I hugged him. I grabbed my lengthy brother in my arms and squeezed him tightly.

"Dean, do I have to ask?" Sam said, his voice struggling as I squeezed his body tighter.

"Just shut up for once." I smiled as I spoke. "Just don't do it again."

Sam looked at my arm, and then up at my face, his expression etched with worry. "You're bleeding."

"Yeah, but you died. I can handle a few wounds; it is all part of the Dean Winchester DNA."

"I died?" Sam asked, bewildered.

"Yeah, you don't remember going all ghost on me. Haunting me, telling me to save you?" I said, remembering the moments when Sam appeared to me.

"Dean, I didn't…"

"Whatever. Let's just get out of here. North Salem is officially going on my list of towns that suck." I laughed, and then released him. Sam sat up and looked at me. He smiled, a bright smile, one I thought I would never see again. The goose bumps returned as I stared.

We both stood up. I patted is back playfully. We walked towards the door, and I paused. I looked back at Tabby one last time. I smiled, knowing she was with her brother and her mother now. I walked out into the sun, and I welcomed the warmth that covered my body. The doors to the club closed, and I headed down to the steps. Standing next to Sam I smiled.

He was the first to speak. "No more hick towns in the middle of nowhere?"

I chuckled, and flashed him a smile. "Agreed."

Again, thank you all so very much. I LOVE YOU ALL! Name is Lo, and now I am going to send you all a personal thank you note. This is it for me. Bai bai!


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